Documentary Evidence
by Kate September
Summary: An ambitious young filmmaker is determined to make a documentary about Batman. When she captures more than she intended on film, she finds herself fighting to protect what she sought to expose, even as the criminal elements of Gotham close in around her.
1. Prologue

"If you can do this, it'll be Oscar-worthy," Clyde Van drawled, leaning back in his chair, throwing his feet up onto the desk as he dragged on his cigarette.

"As long as it gets me graduated, I don't care," Zoe Butler replied, her lips pressed tightly together.

"It's unusual, I'll give you that. Nobody else has ever done a Masters' project quite like that before. What will you do if you don't get him on film?"

"I've got a backup plan."

"I bet you do."

"So do I get the wise Department Chairman's blessing or what?" she demanded.

"Sure. It's your thesis."

"Then sign the form so I can go back to work."

Van leaned forward and, cigarette dangling from his mouth, scribbled his flourishing signature across the bottom of her Masters' Thesis Permission form.

"Go get 'em, tiger," he chuckled. "Or should I say, go get 'em, batty."

"Spare me," she snapped, rolling her eyes and snatching the form away from him. She grabbed her stuff and turned to leave the chairman's office.

"Butler!"

She turned around, glaring at him.

"You honestly, seriously think you're gonna get the Batman to agree to let you film a documentary about him?"

"I got you to sign my form, didn't I? Stranger things have happened."

Van shook his head and grinned. "Poor bastard. I feel sorry for him already."

* * *

Zoe pulled her bike up to the run-down office building on the outskirts of Gotham downtown. She snapped the clasp on her helmet and walked her bike into the lobby and onto the elevator. When it opened onto the offices of Brandstar Productions, she dragged it over with her to her desk and propped it against the brick wall behind her.

Joe Ramirez popped his head around his cubicle wall and grinned at her.

"Don't get too comfortable," he said. "You're heading back out."

"Out where?" she asked suspiciously. When Joe smiled, it usually meant bad things.

"Tonya got pulled by another client, so you're now the lucky girl who's going to do the Wayne Foundation profile video of Bruce Wayne."

"No, seriously? You're going to put me through that?" Zoe's tone was clearly unhappy. "I am so not a corporate girl. I mean, look at me!" She gestured down to her skinny jeans and Chucks.

Joe gave her an appraising look, obviously taking in the frazzled, unkempt dirty blonde hair, the heavy eye make-up around her grey-blue eyes, the Ramones vintage t-shirt over a long-sleeved shirt, and the heavy Navajo ring she wore on her forefinger.

"Yeeeah," he admitted. "You're about as corporate as vomit. Do you ever brush your hair?"

"Yes! I mean, I meant to this morning, I was just running late."

"Okay. Well at least we're supposed to be creative types, so we'll just make that your excuse. Now, you better get on down there. You're supposed to meet with them at 1pm."

"What equipment do I need?"

"Take the Panasonic Pro-AG and the Canon Digital Rebel. You're going to need both video and stills for this project."

"Wow! You mean, I get to play with the expensive toys?" Zoe nearly salivated at the thought of getting her hands on the really advanced equipment that the company usually saved for the very high end productions.

"Wayne Foundation asked for the best. I left you the project info on your desk. You've done this stuff before. Branding the man behind the charity. Soft and fuzzy stuff. You know the routine."

"You mean I gotta film what's-his-face?"

"Bruce Wayne? Yeah. Hey, at least he's good-looking." Joe smirked.

"He's old," she retorted, wrinkling her nose.

"31 is old to a 24 year-old? Dude, I'm seriously out of touch."

"Duh!"

"Well, just go and do the job. Take a cab. I don't want our equipment bouncing around on the back of a bike. Plus, it's just an invitation for you to get mugged."

A strange, speculative light flashed in Zoe's eyes, and she bit back a smile.

"All right," she said, dragging her mind back to the task at hand. "I'm off to film frat boy."

"Try to be polite? Please?"

"Oh, come on. I'm one of those 'creative types.'" She giggled and grabbed her bag and strode off to gather the equipment.

"God help Bruce Wayne," Joe muttered and shook his head.

**

* * *

A/N: Yes, another story has been kicking around my head. I'm not giving up on my other story...but this one is going to drive me nuts if I don't start getting it out. And the setting of this is after The Dark Knight, so post-Joker/Rachel/Harvey. Should be interesting.**

**Yours in Mischief,**

**Kate September  
**


	2. Emo is as Emo Does

Bruce Wayne was running late getting back from lunch. The Pattersons were extremely talkative, and they rarely required anything more from him than an "oh" and "ah" to keep the conversation going. That was good because he really hadn't felt much like talking. Or eating, for that matter.

Ever since the death of Rachel Dawes, the pit of pain in his stomach had been blossoming into a full-blown sickness of his life and everything in it. Everything was poisoned for him now – food tasted corrupt, drink slithered down his throat like mucus, high society parties felt like revels in the circles of Hell, and even fighting crime choked him with the slimy, black oil of evil.

Yet, he smiled, he laughed. He traded barbs with Alfred, worked tirelessly during the day to promote Wayne Enterprises and the Wayne Foundation, and at night…he was equally tireless in his dogged pursuit of criminals.

But it was all empty. There was just nothing left inside him. Nothing to live for, nothing to love, nothing to give. He didn't even care if he never surfaced from the darkness again. He didn't care that there was nothing to anticipate, nothing to look forward to, nothing but an endless bleak, barren landscape. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

He checked his Blackberry and saw that his next appointment was with Barbara Stanford, director of communications for the Wayne Foundation, and a representative from Brandstar Productions. What was that all about? Oh right, the documentary. Painting the shell of the empty man.

"Well, I'm gonna be a star, Alfred," he commented as Alfred pulled up to the Wayne Enterprises building.

"Don't let it go to your head, Master Bruce," Alfred replied mildly. "And try to behave. Remember, this is for charity."

"Nah, I'll just be my charming self," Bruce forced a grin as he got out of the car.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Alfred muttered.

Bruce rode the elevator up with the rest of his employees, knowing it gave them a thrill to be able to say that the big boss was cool enough to hang with the 'little people.' He stepped off the elevator at the top floor and nodded at Tabitha, the woman who kept him and Lucius Fox on task from morning 'til night.

"They're in your office," she said. "You're seven minutes late."

"That's pretty good for me," he chuckled, winking at her and sauntering into his office.

The first thing he saw as he entered the light, airy, sparsely-furnished modern office was Barbara Stanford's slightly perplexed and distressed expression. He followed her gaze to the boy…no wait, it was a girl she was talking to.

Bruce took in the girl's appearance. Young, heavy eye make-up, punk-lite style clothing. Probably one of those techno wunderkinds that could program nuclear missiles from their cell phones by the age of 16. He didn't understand kids like that, but he knew it was that way with every generation, one surpassed the other in technological savvy with astonishing ease. He remembered getting the first VCR and microwave at Wayne Manor, and now every baby seemed to be born with a multi-device remote.

But, he could understand polished, silver-haired Barbara's distress. How could this little punk chick actually have the finesse required to film a high-class, highly-polished documentary? Well, he had a bit more faith in the younger generation than she did, and he'd give the girl a chance.

"Barbara," he said heartily, coming over and patting her gently on the shoulder.

"Bruce, glad you're here," Barbara said, relief apparent in her voice. "This is Zoe Butler from Brandstar Productions. She's going to be the producer for the Wayne Foundation documentary."

Zoe jumped to her feet and promptly extended her hand, shaking his with a firm, confident grip.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne," she said. "I'm looking forward to working with you and Barbara on this production."

Well, he had to give her credit for some professionalism, even if she didn't dress or look the part. Her face still had a bit of the fullness and softness of youth in it, and she radiated an energy that made shaking her hand like sticking a knife in a toaster.

"Pleasure's all mine," he replied, smiling warmly at her. She looked like a nice kid, and this would be a big break for her if she didn't mess it up. One more act of charity. "So, tell me again what the plan is for this documentary? I had a couple of drinks at lunch, and I think I forgot."

He sat down easily in one of the deep leather armchairs. It amused him how much he and Barbara looked like they belonged in those chairs, with their crisp suits, high-class tailoring, and upper-class upbringing. Zoe looked like a punk urchin who would have been more comfortable on an old couch held together by duct tape.

"Well, as we had discussed at the least strategy planning session," Barbara began, "we want to leverage the public's interest in Bruce Wayne in order to draw their interest to the Wayne Foundation. So, instead of shooting another soft-focus Wayne-Foundation-does-good video, we decided to do something more along the lines of the-everyday-life-of-Bruce-Wayne-and-his-work-for-the-foundation. You know, following you through your day, from when you get up to the last night cap, and then using selected footage to show how despite the fact that you're supposedly a playboy, you still give a lot of time and attention to charity."

"Making people feel as though by getting involved with the Wayne Foundation, they are somehow getting closer to you," Zoe piped up. "Typical publicity stunt. Especially good for getting women involved, which if I remember correctly is the recruitment goal for volunteers. If they think there's a chance they might actually get to spend time with Bruce Wayne, they'll totally go for it, and that's what the documentary is meant to do."

"With a little more finesse than that, I hope," Barbara said in a strained voice.

Bruce felt the stirrings of faint amusement as he watched Barbara's reaction to Zoe's straightforward, cynical interpretation of all the careful, corporate language in the "strategic plan" that was at the root of all of this. The little pipsqueak would provide some entertainment for him, at least, if he had to go through with this.

He frowned slightly, though, as he thought over Barbara's words about Zoe filming him getting ready in the morning or late at night. Those were…inconvenient times for him. He'd have to work around that somehow. If nothing else, he'd pay the girl off to not come film him.

"Sounds good," he said with a smile. "When do we start?"

"Well, as soon as possible," Zoe said. "We're gonna keep this on budget, so that means probably 10 days of shooting, then possibly another two or three days for extra footage if we need it after I start pulling the piece together. We'll do two editing reviews, and then a final review before we burn it."

"So you're my shadow for 10 days?"

"Yeah, sorry about that."

Bruce found himself laughing at the girl's apologetic tone. She sounded about as happy about it as he was.

"What kind of camera will you be using?" he asked, trying to be courteous.

"I'll be using a Panasonic Pro 1080i High Def – that's the short name – camera for the video, and a Canon Digital Rebel XT for any stills I need to take. We'll be doing digital editing on Macs back at the office, and I have my Macbook Air with me for anything we need to do on the spot. We usually farm out the final sound production on a job like this to Amp/ersand for final spit and polish. The Panasonic Pro is a sweet machine. It can do overcranking and undercranking, and it has hot-swap for the P2 card. The thing could launch missiles."

Zoe stopped, a little breath with the excitement about the equipment. Bruce raised an eyebrow, struck by her joke about launching missiles and how it reflected what he was just thinking earlier. He could also appreciate her reverence for technological toys. After all, hadn't he treated Wayne Applied Sciences like a candy store? He'd have Tabitha get Zoe a nice gift card to BestBuy or the Apple store as a thank-you after the job was done.

Barbara looked with a bit of bemused distaste at the girl, but shrugged slightly.

"So, we start tomorrow?" Bruce asked, steepling his fingers and smirking.

"Yup. I'll be at your place by…um…well, what time do you get up?"

"Wait, you're going to film me getting up?"

"Getting up, brushing your teeth, drinking coffee, answering last night's booty texts. The whole nine yards."

Booty texts? Wow. He really was out of the movement. Last thing he had heard of were booty calls, and most of what he got were direct come-on's in person at parties. He wondered absently for a moment if the girl got booty texts, and if she answered them.

"I don't get up very early," he said hesitantly, thinking of how to avoid having her see the bruises that usually bloomed like morning glories on his skin after a long night out on the streets.

"That's okay, I can come over and do b-roll and interview your butler."

"You're going to interview Alfred?"

"Yup. Character witness."

"Oh hell!"

Zoe grinned broadly at him, and he found that he had to grin back at her. What was it like to be so young and full of the joy of living? She might look emo, but she didn't seem to be suffering too badly. She had an ebullience about her that was particularly bittersweet to him because he had never had a chance to experience that joyful youth. All that died that day in the alley with his parents.

He noticed Zoe looking at him intently, as if she was already framing him in the lens with her eyes. Quickly, he smirked at her.

"How about 9:00 a.m.?" he said.

"I'll be there by 8:30."

"Sure," he laughed and stood up, indicating the meeting was over.

"See you tomorrow, and thanks again for letting me intrude and tag along," Zoe said, getting up as well and extended her hand to shake his again.

Once more, he had the sensation of shaking hands with a live wire. He watched her as she gathered up her bags and equipment and walked out with Barbara, turning back to give him one last friendly smile and nod.

The moment she was gone, the very air in his office seemed to grow still, and he felt himself deflate. The electric hum of young enthusiasm was gone, and while he was relieved that he could drop the mask for a few moments between meetings, it made him feel all the more empty.

He tensed himself, forced the mask back into place and went to check with Tabitha about his next meeting.

* * *

Zoe checked all of her equipment. Canon Vixia camcorder charged with extra memory cards ready to go, check. Cell phone, check. Pepper spray, check. Brass knuckles, check. Switchblade, check.

She might be going bat-hunting, but she wasn't going to be stupid about it.

She stuck her apartment key and building key in the little zipper pouch she had attached to her shoelaces like runners do. Squaring her shoulders, she marched out into the night. She was going to find the Batman, come hell or high water.

She had spent weeks researching his patterns from the news of arrests in the papers. Naturally, after the accusations about his role in the death of Harvey Dent, the newspapers stopped reporting that he had anything to do with any of the crime-fighting in Gotham, but she had a strong suspicion that he was still doing it. So, every morning, she read the police blotters and all the local crime news. Wherever there were arrests and gang round-ups, she figured he'd been there.

Everyday, she debated with herself whether he was innocent or guilty when it came to Harvey Dent. In fact, it was that question and the way the city had turned on its 'hero' so quickly that had crystallized her decision to make a documentary about him.

In the beginning, she had been caught by the idea of one man's lone crusade against crime. There was something so angry and violent, and yet pathetic about it that it touched her deeply. It brought up memories of her own rough, unhappy childhood and how she and all the other kids had dreamed of some superhero to come and clean up their streets and make the world safe for them. Well, she had managed to grow up without that superhero coming along, but the childhood fascination still lingered.

Who was he? What drove him to this? Was he mad or desperate? Did he eat or sleep? What happened if he had to go to the bathroom and was wearing that crazy body armor? These were just some of the mundane questions that made her stay up nights.

And then the Joker came to Gotham, and chaos warred with resistance. Zoe had felt really sorry for that pretty Rachel Dawes, a real, live heroine. It wasn't right, and she had cried, watching on television the public memorial services for Rachel and Harvey Dent, the heroic prosecutor.

But then, the city had turned like a rabid dog on the one surviving figure out of all this. The Batman was now a criminal, a murderer, a vigilante of the worst kind. Facts were facts, and it was a fact that he was involved with Harvey Dent's death. But still, it didn't make sense to Zoe, and it led to more questions about the Batman's mind and character that kept her up at night.

So, when it had come time to pick the topic for her masters' thesis, she had cast about in the waters of crime in Gotham for a topic, but it all kept coming back to crime-fighting and the Batman. Accepting that this was the universe telling her to go with her idea, she had battled with the entire Film Department at Gotham University to get them to sign off on her proposal, which they had at first rejected as too sensationalist, and then as too dangerous. Today had been a small victory, but the war was only beginning.

With grim determination on her young face, she grabbed her bike and pedaled off into the night, heading for the docks.


	3. Where Fools Rush In

The Batman crouched on the top of the warehouse and stared impassively down at the furtive figures slipping into the abandoned building. Seven arrived, so far, and several inside the building already, from what he could tell. They all looked the same. Cheap suits, pointy-toed leather shoes, suspicious bulges under their suit coats. They also all carried masks.

Tonight wouldn't be the night to attack. This was just the first move in the chess game. When he played the checkmate on these guys, it would be big, and it would be final.

Despite the discomfort of the body armor, the precarious position on the roof, and the obvious danger he was in – both from the criminals and from potentially being found out and captured – he was strangely at peace. It was like he didn't have to think when he pulled on the cowl. All he had to do was focus on his job. Get it done. Keep going. The emptiness seemed more natural when he was stalking through the night.

A small, insignificant sound caught his attention from the other side of the street. No one else had seemed to hear it, but he did. It didn't sound like the crisp slap of leather shoes against the pavement. It had the soft sound rubber padding against concrete. Naturally not loud, probably a smaller person that didn't weigh much. A woman? A prostitute or drug addict?

He tensed ever so slightly, ready to spring into action if one of the newly arriving henchmen noticed her. He watched as the slight, dark figure moved a little bit more forward in the alley between the buildings and ventured a quick peek out into the street.

What the…

What the hell was Zoe Butler doing there? Bruce Wayne's memories of that afternoon intruded into his perfect calm, irritating and unwelcome. Her glance was quick and wary, and she ducked back into the shadows.

He grit his teeth in frustration as she waited until all the men had gone into the building, then slipped out of the alley and worked her way down to the end of the street and disappeared around a corner.

Damnit! Now he would have to miss the start of the meeting of those thugs and have to go chase her down and make sure she didn't get herself killed.

Memories of another woman who had chased shadows to her death threatened to spill over into his mind, but he savagely forced them back. He could just let her go about her business. Maybe she was here to buy drugs. Or turn a trick for extra money. It wasn't his business. He should stay where he was and focus on the big game. The Batman didn't have any obligation go running after damsels in distress, especially ones dumb enough to get themselves in trouble in the first place.

He took a deep breath and watched for any other cars pulling up, but the streets were quiet.

Except for the pounding of two sets of feet running on wet pavement.

Damn!

He launched himself off the top of the warehouse in the direction where Zoe had disappeared. He caught up with her just as her assailant did. He swung down to the ground easily, already bracing for another large jump to bring him within striking distance of her attacker.

A nasty-sounding crack almost – but not quite – made him pause. Mid-jump, he saw Zoe land a punch to the man's face, and there was a flash of something metallic.

Brass knuckles? What the hell?

"Bitch!" the man spluttered, blood pouring from his nose. He lunged for her throat with both hands, only to have her jab her fingers into his eyes. He howled and flailed blindly at her, finally landing a bone-crunching smack to the side of her face. She staggered back, stumbling back against the brick wall behind her.

The Batman grabbed the man before he could recover and smashed his head into the wall, just inches from where Zoe's own head rested. He saw her eyes widen in fear as he did that. Good, let her learn to be a little afraid.

The man went limp, and he dropped him unceremoniously to the ground.

"This isn't a good part of town," he growled. She might look tough, but she was short and thin. He hadn't noticed it this afternoon when he met her, but she looked particularly bird-boned and breakable, and she barely reached the top of his shoulder.

"I know," she replied with relative calm.

"Don't come back," he snarled and turned to go.

"Wait!"

He felt a tug on his cape. It both angered him and made him curious that she dared to touch his equipment, to try and hold him back.

"Wait, listen to me for just one moment," she pleaded.

Reluctantly, he turned around and looked at her silently, trying to force as much menace into his presence as he could.

"I want to help you, but not in the way that you think," she said quickly. "I'm not going to put on a cape and pretend to be a batgirl or anything like that."

"You'd probably do a good job," he murmured, glancing at the brass knuckles still on her hand.

"Well, I knew I had to come to this part of town to find you, so I had to be ready to protect myself."

"To find me?" What was this girl up to?

"Like I said, I want to help you. I want to make you a deal."

"No deals," he growled and turned to walk away. His progress was stopped by an even more insistent grip on his cape and a little hand clutching firmly at his arm. He spun around again to find himself standing almost toe-to-to with her. He glared down at her.

"I want to make a documentary about Gotham crime," Zoe said, her words coming out in a rush. "And you're the angle I want to do it from. You still fight crime in this city. I know it. I don't know what happened with Harvey Dent, but if you want to clear your name or say something about it in this documentary, you can do that. If you don't want to, that's fine, too. You don't have to reveal your identity or anything like that. Just let me come along and film."

"No."

"I won't get in the way, I won't get myself in trouble."

"Like tonight?"

She flashed him a sudden grin. "I had to get your attention somehow, didn't I? But I'm not stupid. I grew up tough. I know how to stay out of it when guys start to mix it up."

"No."

She sighed. "Look, I know this is like the last thing you want – a camera intruding in on your dark mysteriousness and all that, but you have to trust me. I'm not going to turn you over to the cops. I'm a good journalistic filmmaker, and as a person, I wouldn't do that to you. I just want to show the people of Gotham that fighting crime still matters."

"Then film in the daylight." He turned to go again, only to have her nimbly dance in front of him and hold up her hands in front of him.

"That's bull crap, and you know it. The big shit goes down at night. And I'm going to be here, filming it and looking for you, whether you want me to or not. You can't stop me. It's not like you can just waltz into a courtroom and get a restraining order against me. The Batman vs. Zoe Butler? Not likely. I'm not doing anything wrong."

"Not wrong, just stupid." This girl was really starting to get on her nerves. And he had 10 days of her starting in the morning. He didn't think he could take 10 days _and_ 10 nights. Besides, what she was proposing was impossible.

"Look, it'll just be easier if you say yes to me. You show up and do your thing, and I'll do the rest. You won't really know I'm there. Seriously."

"Why me?"

Zoe knit her eyebrows for a moment, as if struggling for words. "I think," she said finally. "I want to understand you. I don't think you're all bad, but I don't think you're all good, either. I feel like if I can understand you, what motivates you, why you make the choices you do, I can show the people of Gotham how to look inside themselves…to see the good and bad in themselves and to reach past it to find the strength to fight a little harder for their city."

That was unexpected. The little twerp actually had good reasoning.

"Plus, it's my masters' thesis," she added with a sheepish grin.

To his horror, he almost smiled in amusement. Straining to keep his features severe, he tried to give her honest statement honest consideration.

"One night," he growled, surprised at himself by his decision.

"I need at least five."

"One."

"Four."

"One."

"Oh come on! How many hours a night do you actually spend fighting crime? Three? Four? I need at least six hours of filming with you to get what I need."

"One."

"Two, and that's my final offer. You had better take it because if I only have one night of shooting with you, then I'm just going to have to do stupid things and stalk you to get my footage. That'll mess up your plans, and I'll have to fight, too, and I don't like that. My hand is hurting like a bear right now."

"Just two?" he whispered suspiciously.

"Unless you find you like having me along," she added brightly.

He grunted. "Two."

"Where should I meet you?"

"Your place. Tomorrow night. Midnight."

Her eyes were full of curiosity and excitement. Stupid girl didn't even know to be afraid. Well, maybe he'd make her afraid. One last ditch effort to get her to give up this insane idea.

He picked her up around the waist and shoved her back against the brick wall, forcefully, but not enough to do more than jar her lightly. He pinned her there with his massive body and leaned in over her. She looked up at him with wide, wild eyes, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders. He could tell her heart was racing, and her breath came quickly. Good. She was afraid. That was exactly the reaction he wanted.

What he didn't want was his body's own sudden, traitorous behavior. His own pulse was quickening, and long-buried wants stirred. Damn this girl! Inconvenient! Infuriating!

He growled and brought his face to within an inch of hers.

"You know, I might just be a murderer," he whispered, putting all of the menace he could into his words.

"Yes," she replied, swallowing hard, but meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "And you wouldn't be the first that I had known."

That caught him off guard but he refused to show any sign of it. He let his hand run suggestively down the side of her body. Maybe another form of intimidation would work.

"You don't really know anything about me," he snarled. "Maybe there's a price to pay for this that you haven't thought of."

She didn't have anything to say to that, but she struggled and kept her eyes on him.

"Maybe I'm more bad than good." His gloved hand slid up to her throat. This felt so wrong, to frighten this woman who was really just an idealistic girl. He flashed to another idealistic girl who hadn't been afraid, and his grip around her throat tightened.

"I wish," she choked out, gasping for air.

"You wish what?"

"That I could get this all on film."

He released her with a jerk, taking advantage of the moment she closed her eyes to jump noiselessly into the shadows between buildings and quickly scale the wall to the roof.

She rubbed her throat, then looked around her, bewildered by his disappearance. He couldn't help but feel just a little bit smug about that. She didn't waste time in smiling in triumph or looking around any further. He watched her set off in a quick pace back toward the main streets that would take her back into downtown Gotham. She'd be fine. She could obviously look after herself. She didn't need him to keep an eye on her.

Half an hour later, he was satisfied when he saw her let herself into her building.

**

* * *

A/N: There is going to be a serious criminal plot, but this takes a little setting up. Okay, back to "Spellbinding" to work on an update for that :) I'm on a roll today!**

**Yours in Mischief,**

**Kate September  
**


	4. Eye of the Beholder

Roman Sionis glared at the newspaper, specifically at the photo of the handsome, popular Bruce Wayne. The legend above the picture announced a new documentary in production that would capture the Wayne heir and his life in a new, intimate way never seen before, for the benefit of the Wayne Foundation.

"Goekler," he snapped into the intercom at his desk, summoning his long-suffering assistant.

The young man instantly appeared at the door to the executive office, the best office on the top floor of Sionis Tower, three floors shorter than Wayne Tower.

"Goekler, I want you to find out who is making this documentary on Bruce Wayne, and then I want you to get the best film student from Gotham University to make a documentary of me for the promotion of the Sionis Fund."

The young man nodded and said, "Yes, sir," keeping any private observations he might have had about his boss' sanity to himself. He closed the door behind him as he left.

Roman swiveled in his executive leather chair and stared out the window, grinding his teeth as he saw Wayne Tower across downtown, a taunting beacon. It wasn't fair that Wayne Enterprises should flourish under the oversight of that empty-headed, moronic Bruce Wayne, while Sionis Corporation was floundering, hanging by a single thread. Everything rested on the success of the cosmetics line that was in development now.

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply, reminding himself that he had a backup plan. He thought about the meeting at the warehouse last night. It was good stuff, and if he could pull this off, Sionis Corporation would be able to eat Wayne Enterprises for lunch. First thing he'd do is fire Brucie-boy from the board. Second thing he'd do is pink-slip that asshole Fox.

A vague worry about the Batman intruded on these soothing thoughts, but he dismissed it quickly. The Batman was like a whipped dog, now. Tail between his legs. The police were really after him now, and there was no way he'd show his face…figuratively, of course.

Roman stroked his strong jawline, the handsome features of his face hardening. If the Batman did try to interfere…well, Roman Sionis would know what to do about that.

* * *

Zoe Butler pulled her beat-up Volkswagen Golf up to the door of Bruce Wayne's building. A doorman stepped forward.

"Miss Butler?" he said, when she had rolled down the window.

"Yes?" she replied, astonished that the doorman seemed to know to expect her.

"If you'll leave me your keys, I'll park your car in the tenants' garage. You're to go in, and the concierge will show you up to Mr. Wayne's unit."

Still surprised at the level of detail and preparation for her visit, she scrambled out of the car, grabbing her bags of equipment. Immediately, she flipped on the Panasonic Pro and began filming as she walked into the building, taking in the tasteful, muted marble, halogen lights and slick mahogany and steel finishes.

"Good morning, Miss Butler," the elderly concierge said. "Please take the last elevation on the left side of the bank."

"Uh, thank you," she replied, pausing filming except to do a quick pan of the elevator interior once she was in it.

After reaching the top floor, she stopped and filmed the front door to Bruce Wayne's penthouse. It was dark, thick cherry wood, with a brushed brass handle, and a discreet little buzzer next to it.

But she didn't have time to use the buzzer, because another elderly man opened the door.

"Ah, Miss Butler, what a pleasure," he said, welcoming her in with a sweeping gesture. "Allow me to introduce myself. Alfred Pennyworth, Mr. Wayne's butler."

Zoe lowered the camera and gave Alfred a friendly smile as she shook hands with him.

"How do you do?" she said politely.

"Won't you come in and have some coffee or tea? Mr. Wayne is still asleep."

"Yes, thank you, that would be lovely."

Alfred gave her a quick appraising look that she almost missed, but she knew what it meant. How did someone who looked like her have such nice manners? Her lips twitched as she tried to hide her smile. She had even tried to dress a little more nicely today, trading her Chucks for a pair of scuffed black flats, and her jeans for tan cargo pants that would be useful for holding pens, extra batteries, cables and anything else she could cram into all the pockets. She wore a white tank top and a thin grey hoodie that happened to be dotted with delicate skulls and crossbones in black. She wore a Timex athletic watch with a timer on one wrist and a thick leather wristband on the other. Her hair was pulled back into a somewhat presentable loose ponytail, revealing the multiple piercings in her ears.

Alfred led her to the kitchen, which turned out to be very warm and homey feeling, despite the modern lines and state-of-the-art equipment. There were papers here and there, a bowl of half-ripened fruit on the counter, a laptop at the kitchen table, and things like napkins, paper towels and recipe books that gave the kitchen a lived-in air, which was more than she could say for what she had seen of the rest of the apartment.

He poured out a steaming cup for her and placed it before her on the breakfast bar.

"Cream and sugar, miss?"

"Yes, please. Thank you."

"So, tell me, Miss Butler, if I may be so bold as to ask, how do you plan to go about filming Mister Wayne for this documentary."

"With a camera," she smirked. "No, I'm sorry, that was just my bad, pre-coffee humor. I actually hope that by the third or fourth day, I'll have become invisible to him, enough so that I can just film without him paying too much attention to me."

"Why should you want that?"

"I looked over the storyboards and the scripts for the project last night, and it just really struck me that Bruce Wayne is almost a cartoon of himself in the eyes of the public."

"Really? How so, miss?"

"He does everything you thing a stereotypical playboy would do. It's like he has some kind of checklist. There's never any deviation from it."

"But you have heard about some of his eccentricities, haven't you?" There was an odd edge to Alfred's voice that Zoe noted, as if he was trying to convince her that Bruce Wayne was actually different.

"Sure I have," she said, nodding slowly. "But that's just it, it's like it's too perfect. Like he has cultivated some of these eccentric behaviors and outrageous acts to make people say just what you said. But…I…I want to see if there's anything more there. If there's anything really different. Anything still, or quiet about him. I don't know."

"And what if there isn't anything else to find, miss?" Alfred's voice was low and thoughtful.

"Then I'll have failed as a filmmaker, and Wayne Foundation will be stuck with a nice, glossy, routine video that glamorizes Bruce Wayne even more."

"Isn't that what they want?"

"That's what they think they want, but I think what they really need is a documentary that _humanizes_ Bruce Wayne."

"Good luck with that," Alfred muttered, turning away to pile food onto a breakfast tray.

"I'm sorry, I missed that. What did you say?"

"Only that I wish you the best of luck, Miss Butler. Shall we go and see Sleeping Beauty himself now?"

Zoe grinned. "Absolutely."

* * *

The first thing he smelled was coffee. It wasn't a scent he was used to, but he and Alfred had agreed that for the days that Zoe Butler was there filming him, he'd forgo the green protein shake and pushups he forced himself to do every morning. After all, he had to look and act normal for her camera.

"Good morning, Master Bruce," Alfred said cheerfully. "I've brought you coffee and toast."

With a groan, he opened his eyes and dragged himself up to a sitting position in bed. He noticed Zoe Butler a few steps behind Alfred, already holding up a camera, its telltale red light indicating that it was filming. He winced slightly as he stretched cautiously, thankful that Alfred had reminded him to wear a t-shirt to bed – when he finally had gotten to bed – so that his bruises were discreetly covered up.

A bruise that wasn't covered up, though, was the ugly purple-black mark on the side of Zoe's face. It brought back memories of the night before, what the Batman had promised her, and what the Batman had done to try and scare her out of wanting that promise. The memory made his stomach roll in a way that was definitely not...normal.

He couldn't see much of her face, as it was behind the camera, but he did notice that yet again, despite the pseudo-punk touches to her outfit, she looked very small and thin.

Suddenly, the red light flickered off, and she lowered the camera to give him a rueful smile.

"I can't do this if you keep looking at the camera," she said with a laugh. "You're supposed to ignore it."

"Sorry, Miss Butler," he replied, making a face as he sipped the coffee.

"Call me Zoe."

"And you call me Bruce."

"Sure, no problem."

"That's a nasty, uh, bruise you got there, Zoe. Are you okay?"

He noticed that she looked self-conscious for a fleeting moment before shrugging and saying, "I almost got mugged last night. Nothing serious, though."

"Almost got mugged?" he feigned shock and concern. "How did you escape?"

Again, she seemed to hesitate for a moment just before answering. "Brass knuckles are something every woman should know how to use."

No mention of the Batman. He was betting that she was deliberately choosing not to mention him, keep it secret for whatever reason. Well, he'd watch her secret-keeping ability very closely over the next few days.

"But honestly, let's not talk about me, let's talk about you," she was saying.

"What about me?" he asked with a smile he couldn't help. She was such a cute kid, trying to be so tough and professional about this.

"How about you eat your breakfast while I explain what this is going to be like."

"An excellent idea. I like the way you work already."

She laughed easily at his joke, and he noticed that her laugh didn't have that groveling quality to it that so many other people's laughs had – that jarring note that seemed to say that while they found his remark genuinely funny, they were laughing a bit more because Bruce Wayne was a man worth sucking up to, who had political, economic and social largess to share.

This girl didn't seem to care. She didn't seem to see him as anything special other than a client for a project. It was refreshing but odd and almost…unsettling. He was used to everyone looking at him through a lens of their own purpose. Even Alfred regarded him with the proprietary attitude of a father for his son. Lucius Fox watched him for his moral choices, and Jim Gordon saw only the shadowy figure who stalked the night.

Yes, it was decidedly odd to have someone look at him only through a lens of plastic and glass – clear, noncommittal, impersonal and without judgment.

"So, here's how it's going to go," Zoe said, putting the camera down and sinking into one of the armchairs in the room, looking at him as he ate breakfast. "I want you to ignore me as much as possible."

"Really ignore you?" he said around a mouthful of toast.

"Yes, pretend I don't exist. I'm invisible. You really shouldn't even talk to me unless it's absolutely necessary. It's easiest that way. Don't worry about angles and shots. That's my job. And we're not doing any staged scenes or retakes like a reality show. This is just straight from the bottle."

He nodded, studying her and feeling more amused than ever at the contrast between her too-casual, too-youthful look and the quick professionalism with which she spoke.

"You can trust me to get what I need, so long as you do what you do," she continued. "I've done this sort of thing before, and it can turn out really well if can tune me out. It'll probably take a few days for you to do that, but it'll get easier. By the end, you won't even remember that I'm there."

Not likely, but he would humor her.

"Okay," he said with his most rakish crooked grin. "You're the boss."

"That's what I like to hear," she said with her own grin in return.

He laughed a little and went back to his breakfast, trying to pretend that he wasn't aware of the camera that she picked up again, or its little red light.


	5. A Day in the Life of

That morning, with the ease of someone used to being behind the camera, she filmed him as he ate breakfast in bed, chatting with Alfred and stealing occasional glances at her. She made sure that she caught the moment that he swung himself out from under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. She wasn't sure she captured it right, but she had nine more tries. She definitely knew that she wanted that moment in the film and pulled out an iPhone and with one hand typed in a note to get that as a key "morning routine sequence" shot, using her other hand to balance the camera on her shoulder.

"I'm going to brush my teeth now," Bruce said, turning to the camera and grinning. "You wanna get a shot of that?"

"Yeah, let me try it once, and I'll see how it screens tonight to see if I really want to get it."

He looked surprised, since he had been joking, but he nodded gamely and led her into the bathroom.

"Oh wow," Zoe breathed despite herself. The bathroom was huge and just as breathtaking as the rest of the penthouse, with warm, cream-colored marble everywhere. There was a large shower, complete with a built-in seat and a rain shower showerhead. The double vanity was long and sleek, but the piece de resistance was the enormous tub at the far corner of the bathroom. It was large enough for two – probably three, and luxuriously deep. The walls were frosted glass so that daylight flooded in, but there was no loss of privacy, and a wide skylight provided even more light.

"What?" Bruce said absently, loading his toothbrush with toothpaste.

"Nice, uh, bathroom," Zoe murmured, turning her camera back to him.

"Oo lie ee?" he asked while brushing.

"It's huge. About twice the size of my apartment," she whispered. "Now stop talking to me and go back to ignoring me."

He gave her a foamy grin that made her laugh despite herself. She leaned against the wall, getting a kind of shaved-off perspective of Bruce, where he actually only occupied the far-right of the shot. He finished brushing, rinsed and spit, and she noticed the quick, precise movements, almost impatient with what he was doing. His face was impassive, but she turned to get a shot of him reflected in the mirror, and she almost audibly caught her breath at her luck – there was just an instant where his eyes had gone from pleasantly soft to hard and tense…and she had it on film! It was gone in literally a second, but she had it. Oh yes she did!

He turned to her again and walked toward the camera.

"So, uh, now you want to get me shaving?" he asked huskily, a smile pulling at his lips.

"Sure," she replied, trying to adjust the focus and aperture for the close up.

"I shave in the shower." The invitation was clearly humorous, but there was a hint of the devastating, legendary seductive powers of Bruce Wayne.

"Yeah, um, no," she laughed. "I'll let you shower in peace."

She lowered the camera from her shoulder and rolled it twice to release the tension in her muscles.

"Is it heavy?" Bruce asked.

"It's my brother," Zoe replied looking down to check the battery indicator, but smiling nonetheless. Bruce laughed, and she added, "It's about 15 pounds, so it's not too bad. I usually use a tripod for a longer scene, like if we go to a meeting at Wayne Enterprises or something. But yeah, if I have to hold it up for a long time, it can get kind of tiring."

"Can you switch shoulders or something?"

"I could, but…"

"But what?" he asked, taking a step closer.

"I shoot with my left eye."

"Pardon me?"

"When you're using a cinematography camera, it's one thing, but with a camcorder like this, you usually use one eye through the viewfinder. Personally, I tend to like the perspective out of my left eye."

He looked surprised and intrigued, and she wished she could get that expression on his face on film.

"I had no idea," he said mildly.

"Go shave."

He snickered and walked toward the shower, and she beat a hasty retreat from the bathroom. She hit the recording switch again and started filming around his bedroom. She started with a shot of the king-size bed that he slept in, its blankets rumpled and pushed back. The pillows were in disarray, and the blankets twisted up. On the bedside table was a small white clock, and she marveled at how even the smallest things in this place were perfectly designed.

There was a copy of the New Yorker tossed on the headboard shelf, open to an article about the CIA. She was surprised by that. She would have expected something far more frivolous. Well, to be frank, she was surprised by finding any reading material at all.

The rest of the room was sparsely furnished, but each piece was museum-quality, modern and reeked of European style. Yet, there was something about it that struck her as having the quality of a monk's cell. There were no photographs, not even of his parents. No high school or college friends, no mementoes of his travels, nothing remotely personal.

There was no dresser, but there was a sleek, spare-lined table under a rectangular mirror. On it, she spied a few personal effects, and she went over to look. She aimed the camera to capture the pieces on the table. There was a watch, a wallet, a Blackberry and a cell phone, and a set of keys.

She turned the camera off, setting it down on the floor. She reached out and with her forefinger gently stroked the leather of his wallet. It was amazingly, buttery soft. She touched the Blackberry and cell phone, the watch, and even the keys. The keys were odd because they didn't look like house keys or office keys, and certainly not car keys. She stepped back and picked up the camera again, getting another shot of these objects. Even these things, the most personal things he carried on him, seemed devoid of any personality and talismanic properties that could carry his 'self.' They were almost like props – neutral, impersonal.

"Do you need to film me dressing?" a voice asked from the bathroom door.

She turned around to see Bruce in a dark blue silk dressing gown, his hair wet but brushed back, and his face now clean-shaven.

"Um, whatever you feel comfortable in," she said with a shrug, keeping him in the frame of her camera. "Try to remember this is a family-friendly documentary?" she added with a hint of teasing in her voice.

"Give me a second," he said and walked over to an inconspicuous door. He opened it, and she caught a glance of another enormous room that appeared to be his walk-in closet. He closed the door, and then a few moments later reopened it and called out from the depths of the closet, "Okay, I'm decent."

"That was fast," Zoe said, laughing. She went over and stepped into the huge room. There were racks of suits, racks of evening clothes, shelves of shoes, dressers and an entire half-wall devoted to ties.

She put the camera on Bruce, realizing he was wearing just boxers and a white t-shirt. She focused on the upper half of his body, though she did shift her focus to her right eye to see if the bottom half was decent enough for filming. She watched as he pulled on trousers and decided it was decent, but not interesting enough as watching the muscles of his upper body shift as he pulled on a soft blue shirt with thin navy blue stripes. She liked the way the lights made shadows on the white t-shirt as he moved better than the awkwardness of trying to get a wider angle of his body.

He was silent, quick and focused as he buttoned his shirt and tucked it in. He snapped on a pair of suspenders and put on his vest. He went to the dresser and pulled out a box that contained multiple little sections for cufflinks. He pulled out a pair of simple brushed silver ones and tried to put them into his cuffs. She noticed that his hands were shaking slightly, and he seemed to be having a hard time with them. This wasn't particularly good action to film, although she couldn't say exactly why she felt that way. She just had to trust her instinct.

She put the camera down, looking up to see him staring at her, a strange, almost wary expression on his face.

"Need some help?" she asked simply, smiling as she stepped over to him.

"I, uh, yeah, sure," he mumbled, dumping the cufflinks into her hand. "You don't seem to be particularly nervous about filming a man in his skivvies," he added, trying to sound humorous.

"I'm used to it," she said, then realized how that would sound and blushed. "I mean, in college, our dorms were coed, and we had coed bathrooms and showers. It wasn't a big deal. The guys on the hall became like my brothers. I saw their skivvies, they saw my bathrobe. I yelled at them for not shaving over the sink, and they grumbled about my hogging the electrical outlet for my hairdryer."

"But the showers weren't awkward?"

"Oh, you know, you got walked in on once a semester or so, but it was usually in the morning, and you were so braindead that it really didn't register as anything even remotely attractive."

"Maybe you should film me shaving tomorrow after all."

"Maybe hell will freeze over."

They both laughed, but she thought she heard just an edge to his voice, a faint tightness.

"Underneath it all, are you nervous about being filmed?" she asked softly, struggling a little bit with aligning the holes in the cuff just right.

"I'm on camera all the time," he replied without really answering her question.

"That's different than this. This is more…well, intimate isn't quite the right word. Maybe private is? It's more private. Right now, it's just you, me and the camera. In your house, the one place cameras usually don't come."

She finally managed to worm the cufflink through the holes and flipped the bar to secure it.

"Maybe," he said.

She gestured for him to supply her with his other hand and started evening out the cuffs.

"It doesn't help that I'm a total stranger to you, either, and here I am asking you to trust me to just come right in and basically live with you and try to dig into you for ten days. It's like psychoanalysis with a lens."

There was a pause as she tried to push the other cufflink in and met with resistance.

"You've given this little speech before, haven't you?" he said quietly.

She gave a little laugh. "All right, Sherlock, you got me."

"So what's the punch line?"

"Just that I understand what you might be feeling, and it's okay to feel that way. Also that I'm a tactful person, and I'm not out to get anyone or be up in your grill or anything like that, despite how I look."

"Now that is an interesting point," he said, his demeanor brightening suddenly. Startled, she looked up at him. He grinned down at her and put his hand over hers to flip the bar on the other cufflink.

Quickly, she pulled her hand away and tried to quirk her eyebrows at him, despite being slightly off-balance by his sudden mood change and touch.

"Oh?" she managed to say.

"Why do you dress the way you do? Not that there's anything wrong with it, but it's not a style I would have imagined a girl like you picking." He pulled out a tie and went over to the mirror to begin tying it.

Zoe shrugged. "I don't know that I picked it out, really. If I think about it, it's probably just as much of a 'corporate uniform' in my crowd as suits and ties are in yours. Plus, it's just not comfortable or sensible to wear suits or even nice casual stuff for what I do. I move around too much, and my things get ripped, snagged, marked on, whatever. I'm out in all weather, and working sometimes 18 to 20 hours a day. I'd probably shoot in scrubs if only they had more pockets."

Bruce nodded thoughtfully and was about to speak again, when she cut him off.

"Enough about me," she said, picking up the camera again. "Back to you in 3…2…" and she gave him a silent sign with her finger to indicate that they were filming.

* * *

The ride Wayne Tower was surprisingly easy for Bruce. It was probably because they were out of his personal space now. The car was more neutral, at least it felt that way to him. He couldn't blame Zoe for how he felt. The kid was trying to do her best to make this as easy as possible for him.

He was sure it would be easier at the office, where he was used to pretending in front of everyone to be Bruce Wayne, TFB (Trust Fund Baby). It was probably just that she had been with him in the most private space in his place, witnessing what were usually the only moments of his day when he was neither Bruce Wayne nor Batman…when he was just Bruce.

There had been those few moments in his closet, where she had stood close to him, almost as close as she had been to the Batman last night, as she helped him with his cufflinks. He had yet again noticed how he towered over her, even though it was less menacing in a 3-piece-suit than in full body armor and a mast. Still, it had made him feel oddly protective of this young girl. He replayed their conversation in his head, trying not to smile at the easy way she talked about things.

"_It really didn't register as anything even remotely attractive."_

His throat felt suddenly thick, and he had to swallow hard as that sentence popped into his mind. A disturbing feeling of attraction ran quickly through his body as he imagined accidentally walking in on her in the showers in the dorms. No red-blooded man was going to be 'braindead' to that. She must not be aware of how pretty she was.

Pretty? Where did that come from? He clearly remembered yesterday not thinking that she was pretty, just passably cute. But now that he looked at her face, with her big eyes, delicate lips and pointy chin, he realized he had been wrong. She was definitely a pretty girl and would grow up to be a beautiful woman.

The quick background check Alfred had run on her had showed her to be just 24, living by herself in a studio apartment on the edge of the East End, and going into the final year of a masters' degree in filmmaking at Gotham University. She held a bachelor of fine arts from Gotham City College. Both parents were dead, and her sister – who was six years older – lived out in Chicago.

Nothing remarkable in all that, and in a way he was relieved. She was just a normal person. No major traumas in her past. Nothing to worry about.

She had filmed him for a few minutes, but the angle had been awkward, and she had given up on that, saying she would try something else tomorrow. Now, she was sitting on the seat next to him, intent on her iPhone, tapping away furiously at the screen.

"Booty texts?" he teased.

She started as he broke her concentration, then grinned at him. "Puhleez! Me? Get booty texts? As if!"

She immediately went back to texting.

"Who are you talking to?" he asked, wanting to play the childish, pesky, inquisitive Bruce Wayne with her for a few minutes.

"Clyde Van."

"Who?"

"Head of the film department at GU. Brilliant guy, but major pain in my ass."

"What does he want?"

She was so engrossed in her texting that she didn't seem to notice how nosy he was being. She was just answering his questions automatically. "He's telling me that he's giving me a 'prestigious assignment' that will showcase our department's excellence and our students' talents, and I'm telling him that he can stick it where the sun don't shine."

"What's the assignment?"

She laughed a little. "You won't believe it, but it's the same damn thing I'm doing now. I don't really want to do it. I already have too much work on my plate as it is. But Clyde is dangling this out as a waiver for a three-credit class, which would make this semester a hell of a lot easier for me with my thesis and everything. But…"

She trailed off and hit a series of exclamation marks on the keypad.

"But what?" Bruce prompted, fascinated by the easy way she talked about her life – without deception, reserve or embellishment.

"But I tried to tell him that it's kind of a conflict of interest with my work at Brandstar, but he said that he would work with the guy who wants the video to put more academic and theoretical rigor into it to make it different, as if _that's_ gonna make it any easier! It's so like the last thing I need."

"Who's the video for?"

"Ron or Rom or something Sionis from the Sionis Fund. He's basically bribing the department with a big donation, and I'm the process of telling Clyde that the only way in hell I'm going to consider doing this is if I get a serious chunk of change from that donation as a 'stipend,' in addition to academic credits. I've got to start saving money so I can start paying off my student loans next summer after I graduate."

Bruce was silent, focusing on not clenching his hands into fists. He found that he didn't like the idea of Zoe being around Roman Sionis. He didn't like it at all. Not one bit. Roman was a sleeze and an egomaniac who was notorious for treating women – both his girlfriends and employees badly, including too often blurring the lines between them and having to pay off sexual harassment settlements or pay off the police to keep from investigating other, unsavory charges.

"Be careful around him," he said softly, and he noticed Zoe pause in her texting and frown slightly. "What's wrong?"

She turned to look at him, and again, he had the eerie sensation that she was looking at him through some sort of camera lens in her eyes, as if she was filming him in a way that exposing him…or more like over-exposing him.

She shook her head and smiled at him and went back to texting, leaving him frustrated with having to interpret her sudden, piercing look by himself.

Alfred pulled the car up in front of Wayne Tower, and Zoe immediately bent over to grab her camera bag and messenger bag. Bruce caught a glimpse of her bare lower back as her shirt pulled up slightly from the waist of her pants. It was just a little thing, a moment and a movement that were natural and unintentional, yet, somehow, it forced another shot of attraction through his system.

"Let me help you with that," he said, reasoning to himself that it was all perfectly natural. After all, he dated models and actresses who were 22, 23, 24 all the time, and he was only a man. It was natural for him to have those kinds of reactions. It was biological. But he was trained to be better than his biology, to channel that energy into his purpose and his skills.

"Oh, no, that's fine," Zoe replied, her voice muffled from bending over as she unzipped the bag with the camera and hauled it out to start recording the moment they were out of the car.

Bruce moved automatically to get out of the car and hurry around to the other side to get the door for Zoe, musing all the while. Those other women, even the youngest ones, had something hard about them, some kind of worldliness in their eyes that made them seem older, feel harder to him. Zoe had an innocence still that made her seem much more childlike to him. Like a kid sister.

Only a kid sister wouldn't have made his heart race as she touched his hand as he helped her out of the car. No, he vowed. He'd stop this stupid, reckless, undisciplined reaction of his body now. He'd get it all back under control. He would only think of Zoe Butler as a nice kid…definitely a kid sister that he could tease and be nice to, but nothing more.

No, he'd gone down that road before, and all that were left were ashes…hers of a life that was no more, and his of a heart that was no more. He swallowed against the pain, working to keep his face perfectly still and expressionless while he fought it back, absently closing the car door after Zoe had unloaded her gear.

He glanced down at her and realized she was carrying her two big bags, plus the camera – which had been trained on him all this time! Shit!

"Can I help you carry something?" he asked, forcing a grin onto his face.

"Would you please stop looking at the camera?" came her disgruntled voice from behind the equipment.

"Sorry, it's just that you're…_there_."

"Helllooo? In-vi-si-ble!" she emphasized the syllables comically, which made him realize he was smiling and actually meaning it for a moment. Then, he nodded and turned and walked into the building.

Most of the employees were either too busy or too shy to say hi to him, except the ones who didn't seem to be as concerned with moving up the ladder or winning his favor – the security guards, the mail clerks, the janitors and maintenance workers. They all exchanged cracks with him, and he responded in equal good humor.

Zoe followed him into the executive elevator, pausing the recording and lowering her camera for a minute as they zoomed up to the top of the building.

"What's on the agenda for today?" she asked, her eyes fixed on the climbing numbers on the elevator screen.

"Board of Directors meeting this morning, lunch with the head of development at Gotham General Hospital, a meeting with folks over at the Foundation about a new youth center in the East End, then a cocktail party over at the Atlantis Lounge."

"Busy."

"A man has to earn his living." He was surprised that his witty remark didn't seem to catch her attention. She was still watching the screen, but her expression was distant and thoughtful.

The elevator slowed, and she picked up the camera again. He had to admit that she was good. For whole moments, he would forget that she was even there. As he sat down at his desk and scrolled through email, he had to remember to keep an eye on what she was doing.

She moved quietly around the office, sometimes filming him from different angles, sometimes panning the office itself, even filming the view from his window. She was quiet and subtle, and she seemed to blend into the bland colors of the office.

Lucius Fox came in, was introduced to her and gave her a warm smile, though Bruce didn't miss the quick, appraising glance he gave her. Together, they went into the boardroom.

With a show of skill, Zoe deftly set up a collapsible tripod and hooked up the camera, also pulling out a digital still camera. She filmed as the board members entered the room, making small talk and shaking hands with Bruce and Lucius. Once the meeting started, however, she stopped filming and only took stills.

Bruce found he appreciated her tact in not making anyone uncomfortable or interfering in the conducting of business by recording confidential conversations. Even moving around, taking stills, she was quiet and unobtrusive, and people seemed to forget about her.

He noticed that she continued to stay silent and in the background throughout the rest of the day. She spoke less and less to him, as if to encourage him to not pay attention to her. She worked hard, and it was only when Bruce insisted they stop for a sandwich for her on the way back from the sit-down luncheon where she hadn't sat once that she agreed – on the condition it was take-out and wouldn't make him late for anything.

They were standing in the lobby of the Wayne Foundation building, waiting for Alfred to pull the car around after the last meeting of the day, when Barbara Stanford came striding down the hall to see them. She looked the epitome of elegance with her silver hair, chunky gold earrings and bright red suit. Impeccable, implacable and correct in all ways.

"Bruce!" she exclaimed. "How has it been going with Zoe?" He could hear the faint worry in her voice and hoped Zoe didn't pick up on it.

A glance at Zoe revealed that she was engrossed in checking her equipment.

"Extremely well," he replied with a broad, satisfied smile. "Zoe's really great at what she does."

Zoe perked her head up at the sound of her name and looked between the two of them. "Sorry, did I miss something?"

Barbara looked at Zoe with a mix of puzzlement and relief. "Not at all, not at all. So how do you think you're filming is coming along?"

Zoe nodded her head slowly, clearly thinking about her answer. "I won't really know for sure until I screen the footage tonight, but I'm confident that if everyday is busy like this, I'll definitely get what we want. Today is kind of a test day, really, but I'm hopeful I have some good shots out of it."

"Excellent!" Barbara seemed genuinely pleased.

"And the day's not over yet," Bruce added with a smile at his 'kid sister.' "I'm dragging her to the Atlantis Lounge so she can see the real me in action."

As he spoke, he swore he could almost see words of disagreement on Zoe's lips, but she seemed to bite them back.

"I know what you'll be wearing there," Barbara laughed to Bruce, then turned to Zoe. "And what will you wear?"

"Um, this?" the girl clearly hadn't anticipated that question.

"Are you sure? It's the Atlantis."

"Well, I'm not really going as a patron. I'm working. I blend into the background better this way."

"If you're sure, dear," Barbara said, but there was a hint of doubt in her voice.

Bruce watched as Zoe smiled and shrugged. "A chick in a cocktail dress with a big, fat video camera on her shoulder tends to attract more attention than the slacker in cargo pants," she said with a light laugh.

For a moment, Bruce had a vision of Zoe in a cocktail dress and secretly wished she would wear one, then he put it out of his head. Even if he bought it as a gift for his 'little Zoe,' he realized she would appreciate a pair of cat-5 cables more than a pair of Christian Loboutins.

"Have a good time!" Barbara said, then turned and walked away.

It was a quiet ride back to Bruce's penthouse. He glanced over at Zoe and noticed that she seemed to be a little withdrawn. Maybe she was tired, but if she was, it certainly didn't stop her from filming him as they went inside and back up to his place.

Alfred had made dinner for him, as he always preferred to eat early if he could so that there would be less food in his stomach to slosh around when he moved as the Batman. He ate and chatted with Alfred, only occasionally conscious of Zoe filming, quietly flitting around the kitchen. Alfred, for his part, seemed much more easy with having the camera on him and was quiet natural.

Zoe finally put the camera down and reached into her messenger bag to draw out an empty plastic bottle of water – which Bruce recognized as the bottle she had swiped from the guest tray in his office. She went over to the sink, filled it up from the faucet and drank from it greedily.

"Are you hungry, Miss Butler?" Alfred said, finally speaking to her since the camera was off.

"Oh, I'm fine. I'll eat when I get home."

"I made plenty, as I anticipated you'd be accompanying Master Bruce back here."

She looked wistfully at the loaded plate Alfred held out temptingly, and Bruce felt strangely protective over her. She needed to take better care of herself.

"Just because you're on the job doesn't mean you don't get a break to eat," he said, reaching out with one arm and pulling her over to join him at the empty stool next to him at the breakfast bar.

"You've never worked on a film set, have you?" she laughed.

"I thought they usually catered those things?"

"Yes, it's mostly there for the actors and actresses to look at and not eat."

Bruce chuckled as Alfred put the plate down in front of her. She hesitated, and he nudged her with his shoulder, saying, "I promise not to do anything interesting for the next 10 minutes. Go ahead and eat. This doesn't put us off schedule at all. It's a party, and it's not a party unless Bruce Wayne is a half-hour late."

Zoe didn't seem to need any more encouragement. She grabbed the fork and knife, digging in with a relish that was a pleasure to see. All too soon, the food was gone.

"Seconds, Miss Butler?" Alfred offered.

"Oh no, no, that's okay! This was more food than I eat in days! Thank you so much. It was really kind of you to think of me and make extra."

Once again, Bruce was stuck by her lovely manners, and again, he wondered at the contrast between her 'badass' appearance and her graciousness.

"Well, time to go change," he said, hopping up from the stool.

Immediately, Zoe was up as well, grabbing the camera. She followed him back into his bedroom, and once again, just as he had this morning, he felt the odd sensation of intrusion creep up on him. It wasn't a feeling that made him angry, just uneasy. But he forced himself to keep up his poker face.

He brushed his teeth again and touched up his shave – at the sink this time, with Zoe filming. Then, he went to the closet, followed by Zoe. With a sigh, he started to peel off the layers of his suit, dropping them on the floor. He was down to his t-shirt and boxers. He heard a small shifting behind him, and he looked back to see Zoe simply adjusting her position on the low leather bench that occupied the center of the room.

"Enjoying the show?" he asked with a wink.

"Watching you shave was more fun," she teased him back.

He smiled and quickly pulled on a crisp white shirt, a black suit and a black silk tie. He took out another pair of cufflinks and turned to her.

"Do you mind?" he asked.

Zoe put down the camera and hopped up. "No problem, though I'm gonna have to charge extra for valet services."

With more ease this time, she managed to get the cufflinks in. He paid attention to his body, testing his reactions to her proximity and was relieved to find that all he felt was a kind of warm, protective comfort towards her. Just like a brother would feel.

"Done!" she announced with satisfaction, turning back to the bench. Absently, she reached up and rubbed her left shoulder, rolling it a little.

"Your neck bothering you?" he asked, enjoying being able to be concerned about her without the weight of having to worry about being attracted to her.

"Nah, not too bad. Just end of the day. My shoulder's just a little tired."

"Here, sit down, no leave the camera down," he said, coming up behind her, and gently pressing her down onto the leather seat.

"What are you doing?" she asked, twisting her head around to try and look back at him. He grinned and turned her head face forward again. He positioned her so she sat straight forward on the bench, then came around the other side and began to gently knead her neck with his fingers.

"What's this, wait, no, you don't have to do this," she protested, trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

"Relax, Zoe, I'm just doing something my masseuse taught me," he said, neglecting to mention that his masseuse had been a homicidal ninja who had taught him about pressure points in order to disable his enemies.

He worked his fingers up and down her neck and all along her left shoulder, from the top down to the shoulder blade. He grinned when she moaned a little and relaxed into his hands.

"Better?" he said, allowing himself to enjoy warm and easy human contact as he worked on her right shoulder a little bit as well, just for good measure.

"Yeeeeeah," she moaned. "Seriously? I don't know why they don't merge Gotham Massage Institute with the GU Film Department. It'd be brilliant."

He laughed and ruffled her hair a little as he pulled his hands away. He'd get her a gift certificate to a spa weekend in the Palisades along with the Best Buy and Apple gift certificates when this was done, he thought with satisfaction.

She stretched a little bit and shook herself out, then grabbed the camera again.

"Ready?" she said. "In 3…2…"

* * *

The ride back from the Atlantis Lounge was quiet. It was only 11:00 p.m., but neither of them had really wanted to stay, though if Bruce had wanted to, Zoe wouldn't have been able to say no. But this way, she'd hopefully be back at her place in time for her rendez-vous with the Batman.

All day long, she hadn't had much of a chance to think about her plan for tonight, and now, she was too tired and braindead to try. She'd just trust to luck and her camera that she'd get something useable.

Bruce drove the Lamborghini through the streets, using its speed and power to slip through traffic.

"You sure you want to come back with me?" he said. "I could give you a ride home. I'd feel better about it."

"Thank you, that's kind of you, but it's okay. I'd rather actually finish this day out, and then I'll grab a taxi home."

He threw her a tired smile and got her tired smile in return. Something had changed about him that evening. Ever since she had helped him with his cufflinks in the closet before the party, he had been playful, almost affectionate with her, but in a way that wasn't even remotely romantic.

She was grateful for not having to fend off unwanted advances – after all the guy was like, what, seven years older than her…and wore a suit every day? Ew, no thank you. But it had made things much more comfortable between them, almost as if they were friends.

But they weren't friends. Zoe had no illusions about that. He was probably just doing that false intimacy thing the rich did where everybody was their instant BFF. They'd probably have a nice time filming together, but afterwards, he'd forget her, and that was okay with her. She had absolutely no expectations about him. He was a client, a job. Maybe a nice guy, but definitely still a job.

She was curious about how the day's footage would turn out. Her head was already spinning, trying to process everything she had seen. Something nagged at her about what she had seen through the camera, but she couldn't put her finger on it. In any case, nothing to do about it now. Just get the rest of the day on film and do it again tomorrow.

She filmed him back up to the penthouse. Alfred was nowhere to be seen, and she figured he must have been asleep already. Then, she followed Bruce back to his room, trying to ignore the feeling that she was intruding on the last private space left in his life.

He disappeared into the bathroom for a few moments, then came back out, pulling off his clothes and leaving them where he dropped them as he crossed the room back over to the bed. He looked up at her, and she lowered the camera.

"That should be good enough for tonight," she said. "I can get a shot of you sleeping some other night."

He smiled oddly at her and nodded.

"Thank you for being so patient and letting me tag along today. I think things will go more smoothly tomorrow."

"I thought they went pretty smoothly today," he remarked.

"Ha! Tomorrow, you won't even know I'm there."

He smiled and nodded tiredly.

"In any case, get some sleep," she said with a smile.

"You, too," he replied gently. "I'll see you to the door."

"Oh, no, don't bother. You're halfway in bed, and I can let myself out. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Five minutes later, she was in a taxi speeding back to her apartment. There'd be just enough time to change her clothes, throw down a cup of cold coffee from this morning, and switch out her equipment. Time enough to do all that before the Batman showed up to spend the night with her.

* * *

Bruce was back in civilian clothing as soon as he heard the front door close. He was out the back door, into a car and on his way to get his armor and equipment and the Tumbler. There'd be just enough time to change, check the files for any new updates or leads on the masked gang that he was starting to follow and get over to the East End to spend the night with Zoe Butler.

**

* * *

A/N: Wow! A really long chappie. I didn't mean for it to be this long, but I wanted to give the sense of what it would actually be like to follow Bruce around during his day. Don't get too comfortable with Bruce and Zoe, though! There are plenty of loops, traps and cliffs ahead!**

**Yours in Mischief,**

**Kate  
**


	6. A Night in the Life of

Zoe sat in the dark, ready to go. She had raced home, changed into a pair of black leggings, a long-sleeved black t-shirt, black Doc Martens and a black ski cap to cover her light hair. She had a black security belt around her waist – an accessory she had picked up and found incredibly useful as a filmmaker for all the bits of pens, paper, plugs and equipment she needed. In the belt were her brass knuckles, a packet of Tylenol, apartment keys, two extra memory cards and a spare battery for the camera.

"You look like a cat burglar," growled a voice from the shadows.

She jumped and nearly bit her tongue off, but rallied.

"Ha ha," she said sarcastically. "Maybe I'll become a catwoman. Your sidekick."

His silence told her that her joke hadn't been appreciated. She sighed and got to her feet. She had slung the camera strap around her chest so even if she let go of it, it wouldn't drop.

"Okay, I'm ready. Let's go."

"Ground rules," the Batman growled, stepping from the shadows into her line of sight. "You do exactly as I say. Without question."

"I can do that," she said, nodding.

He took another step towards her, his long stride closing the distance. He now towered over her, looking down into her face.

"You don't touch the mask or ask me who I am."

"I wasn't planning on it."

He seemed to tense with irritation, but she couldn't figure out why, as she was agreeing to his conditions.

"No screaming or crying," he said roughly. "And no interfering with what I need to do."

"I'm not a screamer," she joked, but nodded firmly. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of his fist balling up.

"Let's go," he snarled, catching her around the waist and practically hurling her toward the window with him. He swung her around so that she was pressed against his body, then he climbed up on the windowsill and jumped.

* * *

She didn't scream, he had to give her that, and he couldn't really fault her for her gasp as they freefell until the slack in the grapple cable she hadn't noticed him holding caught and yanked them to a stop, just a few inches above the ground.

Roughly, he set her down, and stalked ahead, knowing she'd have to practically jog to keep up with him. That was fine with him. Let her see what it's really like. When they got to the Tumbler, he roughly heaved her into the passenger seat and then climbed into his.

"Wow," she breathed, repeating the same expression she had used on seeing Bruce Wayne's palatial bathroom that morning. "This is freaking awesome!" she added as the entire console lit up and she was able to see the sophisticated computer equipment.

She pulled up her camera and was about to switch it on, when he reached over and wrapped his gloved hand around her wrist – God, it was small! Like a child's bones…

"One more condition," he said gruffly.

She paused and lowered the camera.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't…get too much detail about my equipment on camera," he said.

To his surprise, she actually nodded and said, "I totally understand. You don't want your enemies out there knowing just what kind of toys you have – ruins the element of surprise."

"And-"

"And," she continued, not letting him get a word in edgewise. "If someone really took a close look at all of this, they might figure out where it came from and trace it back to…its, uh, source."

"Glad we're on the same page," he said, unaccountably irritated with her. She was so damn reasonable about this – well, except the whole wanting-to-film-an-insane-criminal-vigilante-for-her-thesis thing.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as she picked up her camera and filmed as he tore the Tumbler through the night streets of Gotham. She pointed her camera out the windows, then got some shots of him driving, and she seemed to zoom in on his hands on the wheel. He tightened his grip on the wheel, trying to control the tension he felt.

She turned the camera to the windows and filmed the city flying by. He wondered what she was thinking, but he knew he had to hold back. His plan was to take out a few muggers tonight for her sake. That would be safe enough for her. He could stash her somewhere off to the side where she could film to her heart's content. A couple hours of that, and he'd take her back to her place. He might even have to time to track down those mafia members that he had been tracking last night…before Zoe butted in on everything.

He pulled the Tumbler off to the side, parking it under a shadowy overpass. He jumped out, coming around to the other side where Zoe was struggling to climb out. He grabbed the seat of her leggings and hauled her over the side and setting her back on her feet.

She opened her mouth, as if she was going to let him have hit, then clamped it shut again. He almost, _almost_ broke a smile at her expression. His desire to smile vanished when she aimed the camera at him and clicked it on. He turned and stalked off, leaving her to follow as best she could.

They were on the edge of the Narrows, worse than before, worse than ever, after the fear toxin riots had destroyed what little infrastructure had existed in the impoverished, crime-ridden neighborhood. Rooftops were the safest bet and the easiest vantage point.

He slowed to allow her to catch up, he didn't want to have to rescue her again. When she was again at his side, he slung his arm around her waist, holding her to him tightly, and shot the grappling hook up to the nearest roof.

Apparently, Zoe learned quickly, because she simply pressed herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and held her breath as they shot through the air, landing softly on the cracked concrete roof. He found himself holding on to her for a moment longer than absolutely necessary. She felt very breakable and small against the hard shell he wore. Instead of this making him want to put her down, he found himself wanting to hold her harder to him, to crush her, to crack her little bones with his strength until she…

With a grunt, he ripped her arms away from his neck and practically threw her aside, disgusted with himself. He turned away and heard her move to hoist the camera again. He sensed that she was probably filming him, and he stood completely still. He had to force himself through basic breathing exercises to calm and focus himself. He felt his body relax and muscles grow supple again.

He approached the edge of the building and peered down into the street. Nothing there at the moment, but that might change any second. He was aware that Zoe hadn't moved behind him, and he guessed she was still filming. He listened hard to the sounds of the streets below and finally heard something.

Running feet. Multiple pairs. The faint clicking of metal and plastic together. Probably guns. Lighter sounding breath and two heavier sets of footfalls. About three blocks over.

In movements that were trained to be almost too fast to see, he stood straight and reached out for Zoe to come to his side. He was surprised yet again how quiet and obedient she was, instantly wrapping herself around him, but this time, trying to hold onto the camera and keep filming.

He took a running jump off the roof onto the next roof over, then one more time, bringing him just to the point where the chase he had heard would be coming toward him. Carefully, still holding onto Zoe like she was a little porcelain doll, he jumped down noiselessly onto the fire escape and took them down two levels.

Zoe seemed to sense that this was the last stop, so she unwound herself from him, and again, he found himself gritting his teeth. Her eyes were wide, and her breathing coming rapidly. He saw that she was scared but determined, and he couldn't help but admire that…but only for a moment, the others were about to round the corner.

"Stay here," he hissed. "Stay quiet, no matter what."

She nodded solemnly, her big eyes locked on him. He turned away to block her face from his view and took a quick breath to set himself, then he jumped just at the moment the assailants and their victim came into view.

* * *

Zoe scrambled to the edge of the fire escape and pointed her camera downward. Her heart was pounding with fear, but also with incredible excitement. This was exactly what she was hoping for. This was the footage she needed. This whole night was turning out a hundred thousand times better than she had hoped.

Silent and awestruck, she watched as the Batman dropped heavily onto one of the thugs, sticking the landing and spinning with inhuman elegance to swing his armored fist into the face of the other attacker. She forcefully bit back a gasp and a warning cry when the third attacker pulled out his gun and fired.

The Batman was already gone from the place he had been standing, and the third attacker was suddenly thrown back several feet, his gun going off again before it was wrested from his hand. She saw the Batman drop the cartridge from it and toss it away before spinning again and in a blur of arms and fists beating down the first attacker that he had landed on, who had scrambled to his feet.

Zoe kept the camera on the Batman, but as the final assailant crashed to the ground, unconscious, she panned to the victim, a slender young man in business clothes, slumped along the wall of the alley and gasping for breath. Then, she panned to the assailants. All three thugs were in business suits and fallen next to them were black masks. She zoomed in on the masks. They were hard, as if made of papier mache or some kind of light wood or plastic. The expressions were gross and deformed. She panned back to the young man. He looked absolutely ordinary and completely out of place in the Narrows. She noticed there was a building badge of some kind clipped to his pocket, and she zoomed the camera as tightly as she could onto it, getting it in focus just before a black blur got in the way.

The Batman had stepped in front of the young man and was speaking to him. All Zoe could hear was a growl, and she was pretty sure that all the microphone could pick up was that growl as well. She zoomed out slightly to show the Batman and the victim. The young man spluttered something, then cringed as the Batman moved to stand aside. The young man ran off, teetering unsteadily but determined to get out of there. She turned the camera off and sat back on the grating of the fire escape as the Batman swung his way back up to her.

"Got what you needed?" he growled at her, not sounding happy at all.

She nodded silently, all kinds of thoughts racing through her head.

"Let's go," he snapped, extending his arm in the gesture she now knew meant basically 'climb aboard.'

She went over to him, going up on tip toe to put her arms around his neck, remarking how thick it was with that cowl on it, but also noticing how it was designed to enable him to turn his head. She pressed herself to his side, letting her legs go slack so as not to interfere with his. She was secretly proud of herself for getting so good at this so quickly, and for not being (too) afraid.

His arm encircled her waist, and felt the bite of his body armor against her skin and her ribs. She wondered if she'd have bruises the next day to show for his rough handling, for there was no doubt that he was not giving her any special treatment. He hauled her with him, swinging her around like she weighed nothing, and not bothering to be particularly gentle with her, either.

They made their way back to the Tumbler, where this time Zoe was more prepared and scrambled effectively – though not elegantly – back into her seat. She watched him jump in and drive them off.

"Those weren't your ordinary street thugs," she said finally.

"How would you know?"

"Um, maybe it's just me, but the masks were a dead giveaway."

"You noticed."

"I noticed a lot of things."

He brooded in silence, and she wondered if he was going to bother speaking again.

"Like what?" he finally said.

"Like they were the same type of guys who were back at the warehouse the other night. Like that young man wore a building badge. All that makes me think that two and two are equaling shenanigans."

He made a strange, choking sound that could have been a laugh or a growl. She couldn't tell.

"When I get home, I can zoom in on the badge and get an enhanced still," she continued. "Probably get that guy's name and company off it. Maybe even the badge number. I could probably get face shots of the thugs, too."

"No, you won't."

"Um, excuse me?"

"I suggest you don't use that footage."

"Why not?"

"Maybe you're onto something. There's more to this. If there is, you don't want to be mixed up in it."

"You're right that I don't, but…" she trailed off, thinking very hard.

* * *

He let her words hang there, wondering just what in the hell she was going to say next. He had already been surprised by her quick perception of what had happened. He was both intrigued and dreading what she was going to say.

He glanced at her and saw a thoughtful smile tugging at her lips, and he guessed he was in trouble.

"But if you only let me shoot two nights of footage with you, then I'm going to have to use this," she said in a sweet, reasonable voice that grated on his last nerve. "Now, if you'll let me tag along for a few more nights, I'm sure I can get more…innocent…footage, and I'd be happy to turn over to you what I've got on film about those possible gangsters."

"That's blackmail."

"Blackmail involves money. This is just shrewd bargaining."

"We'll see."

She seemed to settle for that and dropped the conversation for a bit. He was heading out to the docks again, thinking that by changing venues, he'd be able to take down some regular criminals, give her what she needed, then take her back to her apartment before heading out again. He glanced at the time. Only 1:30 a.m. Plenty of time.

He parked the Tumbler again, out of sight in the back of a parking lot dumpster. The smell was overwhelming when they got out, and he saw Zoe wrinkle her nose, but she gamely jumped out – without his help this time – and stood at the ready for his directions.

He took them along on foot this time, making Zoe practically jog along to keep up. Hopefully, this would help tire her out and make her more amenable to calling it a day…night…when he was ready to take her back.

He heard something coming around the corner. Leather soles against wet pavement. Multiple soles. Without a word, he spun around, caught her around the waist and shot the grappling hook up, pulling them up out of sight. There wasn't time to make it over the roof without attracting attention, so they just hung there, 30 feet above the ground with the strange, well-dressed men pausing to talk and light a cigarette below them.

He was very, very conscious of how still Zoe was, and yet also how tightly she was hanging onto his neck. He could tell she was afraid, hanging on for dear life, literally. He wanted to tell her that he would never let her fall, but all he could do was tighten his grip around her waist. He could feel her ribs through her thin t-shirt, and her legs dangled against his.

He saw how intently she was watching the men below, despite her fear. She had half-hidden her face against his shoulder, but her wide eyes were fixed on the two men, and he realized she was listening just as fixedly to their conversation.

"The boss is not going to be happy about this," one guy said, his nasal East End accent coming as thick as the cigarette smoke.

"He won't be able to do anything about it," the other replied, lighting up as well. "Not without getting some unwanted attention."

"Well, I'll be glad when we're done dealin' with that shipping trash. No manners, that's what. They're all a bunch of drunks on boats."

"One last, heh heh, container, as it were, to put out to sea, and then we're done."

"Say, lemme ask you…you don't think the boss is just a little…you know?"

"Don't ask me. I ain't sayin' what a think about the boss. Or his little shipping business. What comes in and what goes out ain't none of my business. All I do is give 'em the money, and see it gets done."

"Anyway, I don't see why we have to wear masks. Stupid things make me break out."

"What are you? Some kind of teenage boy? Sheesh!"

The Batman looked down at Zoe again and was horrified to see that she had pulled out the camera and was filming again. He pinched her waist where he held her, and she looked up at him defiantly.

Just at that moment, one of the guys said, "Think it looks like rain?" and looked up.

"Hey!" he yelled. "What the? Get them!"

They both took out guns and began shooting at the Batman and Zoe. Without stopping to think, he looped the grappling cable once around Zoe's wrist, locking her in, then let go of her and fell on the two men. One of them managed to get a solid punch against his cheek. The blow was blunted by the cowl, but it still sent him staggering for a moment. This gave the other man his chance, and he aimed up at the wall and pulled the trigger over and over.

The Batman lunged at him, a white hot rage filling him and almost blinding him. He grabbed the man and swung him bodily into the other one with such force that it sent them both to the ground. The first man pointed his gun at the Batman and fired but missed his mark. The other man rolled to the side and aimed back up at the wall.

Frantically, the Batman glanced up to see that Zoe had started to scale the wall, using the cord around her wrist to help pull her. A hail of bullets landed by her feet, sending her flying back from the wall, dropping down with all her weight so her arm was yanked painfully by the cord when it caught, swinging her away then swinging into the wall with a sickening crack.

The two thugs were startled for a moment by the virulent string of absolutely foul obscenities that she let loose with as she struggled to get a purchase back on the wall as she dangled.

This was enough of a chance for the Batman to lunge at them again, and this time, there was no mercy, no mistakes. In a few moments, both the men lay unconscious and bloody on the ground. He kept hitting them, even as they lay still. It felt so good to get this rage out! To punish them for trying to shoot an innocent girl! For trying to shoot Zoe! Punish their evil! Yes!

"Hey!" a weak voice called out above him. It took a moment for the sound to cut through the red haze in front of his eyes and bring reality back into focus. He staggered to his feet, staring at what he had done to the two men, relieved he hadn't killed them, but sickened with disgust at how close he had come to it.

He looked up at the voice and saw Zoe trying to pull herself up on the grappling hook's cord again, only this time, one of her arms didn't seem to be working right. She looked pale and sweaty, and in a lot of pain.

He lost no time, shooting the darts out of one of his gauntlets up into the wall, giving him climbing holds so he could get back up to Zoe. In a moment, he was back on the cord with her, grabbing hold of her with one arm and climbing back up to the roof where he hauled her over the side with him.

She bit off a high-pitched whine before it turned into a scream, and he instantly saw the source of her pain – her left shoulder had been dislocated. She was practically fainting from the pain, and he wouldn't have blamed her if she had started screaming. In fact, he was stunned that she was able to hold it in. His wondering didn't stop him from gently cradling her in his arms and easing her up to a sitting position.

"You're shoulder is dislocated," he started to say.

"No fucking shit, Sherlock!" she ground out in that same high-pitched whine. Her eyes started to roll back in her head, and she whimpered, "Oh God."

"I am going to reset your shoulder," he whispered, his own heart starting to pound with a strange emotion that mixed fear and something else. "Hang on."

He moved quickly and accurately to yank her shoulder back into place, using his hands to roll it back into its socket and move the muscles back around it.

He didn't think he'd ever heard a quiet scream before, but now he knew he had. Zoe had made a queer, quiet keening sound as her entire body jerked and tensed with the pain he knew she must be feeling. It was over quickly enough, but not soon enough to keep her from feeling the full agony of the procedure.

He held her gently as she gasped for air, her eyes unseeing as she reeled from the pain. He watched as her eyes drifted closed, and she rolled a bit in his arms to turn her face to his armor, as if to hide it. He felt her shake and, worried, tipped her face up to him with his gloved finger. She was crying!

"What's wrong?" he whispered, hating the feeling of watching someone, an innocent, in pain. This was not right. This was not supposed to happen. He had been careless. He hadn't been aware of his surroundings. If he had been just a little faster, he could have stopped that man from shooting at her and making her fall. The urge to go back and finish the job on the men rose up in him like bile, but he fought it back. Zoe needed him. He had to stay there.

"I'm…I'm sorry," she said in a muffled voice, looking down to avoid his eyes. She squirmed weakly in his arms and tried to sit up herself a little more. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

"Sorry for what?" he demanded.

"I know you said no crying," she said miserably, wincing with pain as she tried to swipe at her tears. "I…I…"

She dissolved in tears, ducking her head and trying to hide against his chest. He stared down at her, stunned yet again by her. The fact that she hadn't passed out or screamed her head off was incredible. These tears were the natural reaction to the pain and trauma, hardly her fault!

Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest.

"You were pretty brave back there," he whispered.

His words seemed to trigger something in her, and she squirmed again, this time managing to pull away from him entirely. She wiped away the tears with her right hand, her left arm still hanging somewhat limply.

"I'm okay now," she said fiercely. "I'm ready to go when you are."

"Let's get you home."

"That's not what I meant."

He stared at her.

"I meant let's get back out there. By some miracle, my camera is fine, and the night is young." She spoke in a tight, rough voice as she pulled out what looked like a packet of Tylenol from her belt, ripped it open with her teeth and poured the two pills into her mouth. She grimaced as she swallowed them.

"You're going home," he said firmly.

"No."

Her refusal sparked the anger that was too close to the surface for him. He simply stood up and picked her up roughly in her arms, hoping that it jarred her arm to teach her that he knew better when it came to things like this. Why he wanted to teach her that lesson was beyond him. It wasn't like he was going to let her come out again. This just proved that her idea was foolish, stupid, risky and basically insane.

"I know what you're thinking," she muttered.

He didn't answer, breaking into a run over the roof and jumping to the next roof, landing solidly without his grip on her breaking. He would be glad to get her back in the Tumbler. She was altogether too easy to sling around, too tiny, too bird-boned. Her very physical weakness kept making him want to hold onto her and protect her, and he was beginning to be very much aware that too much physical proximity to her was a bad idea.

"You're thinking you're going to take me home, and you're never going to let me come out again," she whispered harshly. "Well, you're wrong. Short of coming into my apartment and tying me up every night-"

"Don't tempt me!"

"I'm not surprised you're into that sort of thing." Her reply came zinging back at him in that sweetly reasonable voice that pushed his last button.

He dumped her unceremoniously on the ground, watching as she winced but bit down on her lip to hold it in. She glared up at him as he loomed over her.

"Don't you get it?" he growled, reaching down and picking her up by the neck of her t-shirt. He lifted her up with one arm so that her feet were inches above the ground. "This is too dangerous for you. I'm not going to be responsible for your death, too!"

Too? Had he actually just said that? Had he actually just put Zoe in the same class as Rachel and Harvey? He glared up at her with all the hate he could muster, even angrier when Zoe narrowed her eyes back at him.

"You're not responsible for me," she hissed. "I signed a waiver as part of my thesis project. No one is responsible for me. Not Gotham University, not you, not anybody!"

"What about the people who care about you?"

"There aren't any. Give it up. A deal's a deal. You said two nights, and we're only halfway through the first one. Like I said, you back out of this, and I'm just going to go doing stupid stuff to put myself in real danger to get your attention."

"I won't rescue you."

"Yes, you will."

He deflated like a balloon when he realized she was right.

"Let's go before the pain really does get too much for me," she said once he had put her down.

He gave her one last glare before taking her hand and jumping.

* * *

The sky hadn't really started to lighten yet, but it was as if he could tell something in the tilt of the earth had changed. He didn't have long. He looked down at the sleepy figure in the Tumbler next to him. He was irritated beyond belief with Zoe, but he had to admit that she had been a trooper, quiet, alert and careful the rest of the night, filming diligently and not complaining about the pain she was undoubtedly in. It was only when he had brought them back to the Tumbler that she had let herself relax, lines of pain crossing her face as her eyes drifted closed.

When he pulled up, he carefully lifted her half-sleeping figure out of the seat. At the foot of her building, he pulled out the grappling hook and instinctively, though weakly, she wrapped herself around him. This time, he was careful to be gentle with her, holding her tightly since he wasn't sure how sound her sleepy grip was around his neck. He crawled back into her apartment with her in his arms.

He looked down as she moved. Was she…was she actually snuggling up against him? Not trusting himself to think any further, he quickly deposited her on her bed, pulling the camera off from around her shoulder and placing it on the bedside table.

He turned to leave, when he heard a soft "Hey," behind him. He looked back over his shoulder.

"Thank you," Zoe said softly, her eyes barely open and not moving from where she lay. "I know this was difficult for you, but I want you to know I really do appreciate it. It means a lot to me."

Unbelievable! The girl had nice manners even after the night she had been through. He nodded then turned to leave again.

"Same time tomorrow night?" she called after him, but he was already gone.


	7. Goodish News

Good-ish News

Good-ish news for my loyal readers of "Angel Hands," "Documentary Evidence" and "Spellbinding."

The good news is that I fully intend to finish ALL of these stories, and in the not too distant future, either. Each review and message goes right to my heart, and I yearn to type away and finish these stories. Amy, Bruce, Zoe, Erik and Mireille are all in line with y'all tapping their toes (and in Erik's case muttering threats about explosives and grasshoppers), waiting for me to get a move on and finish their stories.

What prevents me? The fact that I am putting myself under the gun to finish my first mainstream novel and get it out the door before Christmas. I am on the second round of editing and am still pushing my word count and page count – at this rate, it'll be 100,000 words by the time I'm done! But it's a page-turner guaranteed…if you like my twists and turns, tough-as-nails heroines and inscrutable, conflicted heroes, then you'll love this work of suspense…based on an actual historical murder mystery…that comes back to haunt an unfortunate librarian.

So…I am begging your indulgence one more time. I need to finish this…my dad put a terrible guilt-trip on me, LOL! He said last year at this time, "Caity, I'm not going to live forever (he's 79, 3 heart-attacks, 40 years of diabetes, strokes, cancer…you get the idea), but before I go, I want to hold your book in my hands."

Sheesh! Talk about motivation! So…it has taken me all year to do this, but I am about to finish it and send it to my literary agent to see if anything can be done with it.

So shall we compromise? You promise to still love me and be here, and I promise new chapters for all three stories for Christmas/New Year's. Deal?

Love you, thank you, owe you!

Yours in mischief,

Kate September


	8. Appearances

Zoe woke up to the irritating, annoying, insufferable, smug, pissy sound of her cell phone alarm clock. Grumbling, she grabbed it, hit snooze and tucked it under her pillow. Every time the snooze went off, she snaked her hand under the pillow to hit it again.

It was only when the pain finally started to seep through into her awareness that she realized she was late. Sitting up with a jolt, she groaned out loud. Every inch of her body hurt, and her shoulder was screaming bloody murder. Whimpering a little, she crawled out of bed and staggered to her tiny bathroom. Well, the bruise on her face was a little better, turning kind of a lovely greenish yellow. But that was about as good as the news got from her reflection. The circles under her eyes were deep and purple. Her eyes themselves were bloodshot. Her hair looked like she had tried to unravel dreds.

Well, so she'd look like shit today. There wasn't any time to really try and do anything about it. She was running late. She jumped in the shower for five minutes, not even trying to wash her hair, just letting water run over it and wet it through. Pulling on skinny jeans, her black flats and a black hoodie with the name of a climbing gym she used to work for on it. She wrestled her knotted, wretched hair into a messy bun, threw on eyeliner, mascara and smoke grey eyeshadow, and called it a day. Pausing only to grab her gear and a bottle of Tylenol, she ran out of her apartment and into the street to catch a cab.

She got to Bruce's building only about five minutes later than the day before. She got out the camera and began filming again, this time trying some different angles and effects. Just as the day before, Alfred greeted her at the door of the penthouse. Tired and in pain as she was, she didn't miss the fraction of an inch that his eyebrows went up at the sight of her.

"Good morning, Miss Butler," he said, instantly switching on a warm smile for her.

"Good morning, Alfred," she replied, stifling a yawn and smiling apologetically.

"Coffee is in order, I believe."

"Yes, _please_!"

A few sips of coffee helped her revive somewhat, but it was going to be a long, long day. Her body was used to long days of shooting, but not used to long days _and_ nights. Without realizing she wasn't talking at all, she continued to greedily drink down coffee, using it to swallow four Tylenol.

"If you'll excuse me, miss, the bottle only recommends two pills every four hours," Alfred said gently, breaking into her reverie.

"What?" she exclaimed, startled out of her thoughts. "Oh, you mean the Tylenol? Oh, I'll be fine. I've done this before. Trust me. I need it."

"And why do you need it, miss?" Alfred's question was the soul of bored disinterest, but Zoe wasn't about to blab about her night.

"I slept really funny on my shoulder last night," she said, gulping coffee. "I think I must have really twisted a muscle or something."

"I see. Don't you think you should see someone about it if it's that painful?"

"Nah. I can't afford time off right now. Plus, they'd just give me painkillers that would make me a total mess. I just gotta suck it up and stick it out."

"Well, I'm sure Master Bruce would be happy to extend the filming if you needed a day to recover."

"I think that's the last thing he'd be happy to do," she laughed. "Anyway, let's go wake up our pet playboy."

"Just what I was thinking," Alfred said lightly, but again, Zoe caught him giving her a grave, thoughtful look.

A nosy butler. She laughed, realizing that made two of them.

* * *

Bruce was soundly asleep, and for once, pleasantly asleep. The details were fuzzy and nothing was very linear or logical, but he was having one of the most lovely, comfortable dreams he had ever had in his life. He was very warm and very happy, and it seemed like there was someone warm and happy next to him. He realized they were wrapped up in a large blanket together, and that there was a fire blazing in a hearth…back at Wayne Manor. Everything was warm and soft and comfortable, and he never wanted it to end.

Then, he smelled coffee in his dream, and like a machine, everything clicked into place, his mind instantly switching off sleep and remembering that coffee meant Alfred, and Alfred meant Zoe.

Zoe…something familiar about that…

He pushed the thought away and sat up, opening his eyes and carefully looking only at Alfred, knowing that Zoe was probably filming and would scold him if he looked at her.

"Good morning, Master Bruce," Alfred said, putting down the tray on the bedside table.

"Morning, Alfred," he replied, grinning. "What's the good word?"

"Well, sir, the world is still turning on its axis, the Dow opened up, and you only have three meetings today."

"That's good enough for me!"

"Very good, sir." Alfred shot him a warning glance that he didn't quite understand, and he watched for a moment as the older man turned and walked away.

He heard Zoe shift the camera down and figured it was safe to look over. He turned to her and smiled, but his smile froze in place. She looked awful. Horrible. Haggard and in pain. She tried to smile at him, but the smile was weak. The bruise on her face was a little better, but her left shoulder – the one she used to film with – was hunched up uncomfortably, and her movements were stiff.

"Wow, crazy night?" he managed to croak out.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that it's not polite to tell a lady she looks like shit?" Zoe shot back, grinning a little bit more naturally.

He couldn't help but laugh, but it didn't register deep inside. His little girl was hurt, and it was his fault. If he had been a little faster, a little bit more aware, a little more careful, she wouldn't be in pain. He held his grimace inside, as Bruce Wayne couldn't know about Zoe's night with the Batman, but he couldn't help but feel anguish at what she must be going through.

"I didn't know film editing was a full-body contact sport," he retorted, helping himself to the food on the tray.

"Are you going to eat that muffin?" Zoe said, completely distracted by the sight of the food under the silver dome.

"Yes."

"Okay, I'll trade you the muffin for the bacon."

"Wait, wait, wait, the bacon wasn't up for grabs!" he argued back, grinning as she plopped herself down in a chair by the bed.

"So, you'll give me the muffin?"

"Fine, take your stinking muffin."

"Oooh, cranberry walnut! My favorite." Zoe's tone was completely oblivious, but she gave him a knowing little wink.

Once again, in her presence, he felt the unfamiliar zing of zest and energy and youthful exuberance. It surrounded him and buoyed him up like a life jacket, keeping him floating despite his natural propensity to sink. Even tired, disheveled and in pain, Zoe could make him smile like he meant it.

"So how was your night?" he asked casually, watching her from beneath lazy eyelids.

"Uneventful," she replied equally casually. "I slept on my shoulder wrong, so that's why I probably look like crap today. I must have pinched something in my neck or something."

He looked at her for a moment, astonished at how easily she lied, both pleased that she lied about her night with the Batman, but also wondering with less assurance what else she might be lying about.

"So," Zoe continued, pretzeling herself up in the chair, wincing slightly as she moved. "What's on your docket for today? Anything much different from yesterday?"

"I don't think so," he replied absently, still thinking about her easy lying and how tired she looked. He picked up his Blackberry from the side of his bed. "A couple of meetings this morning, a fitting at my tailor's after lunch, and….oh."

"Hmmm?" she inquired, devouring the muffin.

"Apparently, I have a date tonight."

He wasn't prepared for the wild snortings of muffin or rocking in her chair that his words provoked.

"What's so funny?" he asked, unable to help but smile with her.

She gasped for air as soon as she swallowed. "You're, like, the only guy I know who forgets he has a date, or talks about it like a board meeting."

"Svetlana is very beautiful," he replied mock defensively. "Long legs. Blonde. She's a model."

Instead of whipping something right back at him, Zoe looked at him speculatively, as if a new thought had occurred to her. He felt again as though he was being seen through a clear lens when she looked at him, like there was no mask or pretense that could hide him well enough.

"What?" he asked somewhat sharply.

"Nothing," she replied hurriedly, looking down at the remaining bit of muffin in her hand. "So, time to get this show on the road?"

Show on the road, indeed. Somehow, he didn't like the thought of Zoe being there on his "date" with Svetlana. Suddenly, his fake romance with the leggy Russian model felt sleazy, and the last thing he wanted to do was expose his "kid sister" to something so sordid. She was so sweet and young, she deserved to be protected from the dirt and grit of life. It was unlikely, though, that he'd be able to put her off, seeing as it was her job to shadow him. It also occurred to him that she wasn't really such a neophyte as he made her out to be in his mind. She probably had had boyfriends, dates and relationships herself.

The thought brought on a sudden burst of white hot rage that was absolutely inexplicable. How many guys had had dirty thoughts about her? How many had tried to get her into bed just for the sake of getting her into bed? How many boyfriends had she had who might have dumped her and hurt her? The thought of her in bed with someone else made him feel sick and even more angry because of the way his body reacted to the mental image of her, stretched out against white sheets, reaching for him…

"Yeah, get the show on the road," he snarled, whipping back the covers, jumping out of bed and storming to the bathroom.

He could sense her stunned silence behind him, but he didn't care. He needed to calm down, to get a grip on himself, to think logically. He kept the bathroom door locked while he showered and shaved. Control, control, control, he had to put back on Bruce Wayne. The hot water relaxed him somewhat, and he did his breathing exercises to get his mind focused again. By the time he walked out the door, a towel securely around his waist, he was more himself and prepared to explain away his earlier temper tantrum.

But clearly, Zoe wasn't paying attention to him. In fact, she had her back to him. She was standing with her fingers hooked through her jeans loop while she held her phone to her ear with her other hand. Her shirt was lifted just a little bit to reveal again that sliver of bare back that seemed more risqué because of its innocence than all the deliberate cleavage in Gotham.

It was her conversation, however, that truly got his attention.

"Yes, sure, that sounds great," she said, sounding very bright and sweet and enthusiastic. "Tomorrow night would be perfect. Eight o'clock? Sure. Okay. Where? Um, are you sure? Well, okay. Yes, I'm looking forward to it, too. Totally. Okay. Great. See you then!"

She turned halfway, hung up the phone and stared at it, oblivious to Bruce's presence until he took a step toward her. She then suddenly looked up and started.

"Oh! Sorry, didn't see you there," she said with a sheepish smile.

"No problem," he replied, incapable of producing the charming smile he had planned on. "Who was that?" he added, trying to sound casual as he moved toward his closet.

"Oh that?" she said oddly. "Apparently…I think I've got a date now, too."

There was something about her tone of voice that made him pause in the act of pulling on his t-shirt. It was as if she was accusing him of fraud with his dating. He realized that she must have been thinking that when he mentioned Svetlana, that she was getting dangerously close to seeing through one piece of his persona. He'd have to work hard at making his date seem genuine tonight if he was going to keep her from guessing.

"So who's your date with?" he asked casually, opening the closet door to invite her in for her usual filming.

She looked at him oddly for a long moment before sitting down on the leather seat, holding up the camera and turning it on.

"Roman Sionis," she said quietly.

The wood hanger in his hands snapped.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, a short chapter with not a lot of action, but at least I am keeping my Xmas promises! I am not done with my novel yet, but I am working at it as well. I'll be producing a couple of chapters for Documentary Evidence, Spellbinding and Angel Hands over the next few weeks, so be on the lookout! Thank you all for your support and encouragement!!! Love you, owe you, sending you e-chocolate chip cookies and eggnog!**


	9. Conflicts of Interests

When Barbara Stanford showed up at Wayne Tower for an unplanned quick meeting with Bruce, Zoe almost welcomed the distraction, even though she had to roll her eyes at the clumsy way Barbara was trying to keep tabs on her. She hadn't missed Barbara's patrician concern over her appearance and was basically amused more than anything that the woman was so uptight.

Still, it was a relief to have someone else in the office with her and Bruce. Ever since her announcement that she was going on a date with Roman Sionis, Bruce had been stonily silent. Not only was this not good for the documentary – after all, who wanted to see a sourpuss instead of a playboy? – but it was making her really, really jumpy.

The whole hanger-snapping in his hands thing had given her the heebie-jeebies. They had both sat there for a long moment in profound silence. Then, Bruce had given a little inane laugh and started dressing. But that was it. He hadn't said a single word to her since that moment, and he had relapsed into some kind of deep gloom. The only flashes of his usual self were when he greeted the employees at the tower, but he turned it on and off like he was flipping a switch.

While Zoe had found this interesting and food for thought, it was making her really uncomfortable. She wondered what exactly it was about Roman Sionis that set Bruce off so badly, and she promised herself to do some major Googling on him before she went to dinner with him the next night.

In the meantime, she doggedly filmed everything she could, even though she was running out of ideas. When Barbara arrived, she had been chewing on her pen and replaying some of the video and listening to the audio on headphones while Bruce stared morosely at his computer.

The minute Barbara walked in the door, Bruce slapped on a big smile, jumped up and went over to her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Zoe clicked on the camera, as well as her powers of observation.

"Good for what ails you?" he asked her, going over to the whiskey decanter on a side table and pouring himself a stiff drink.

"Bruce, you know I only ever drink champagne, and never before four o'clock," Barbara admonished him, smoothing out her impeccable indigo blue wool crepe suit as she sat down in one of the easy chairs.

"It's four o'clock somewhere in the world," Bruce smirked, sitting down as well. "And I've got several bottles stashed away here."

"Bruce, I'm sorry to barge in without an appointment, but we have a problem."

"Oh?"

"The Sionis Foundation has stolen our idea and is making an identical video to ours," Barbara complained, her aristocratic voice registering scorn and distress most elegantly. "Not only that, but they've contracted with the Gotham University Film Department to have a thesis student make it."

Zoe squirmed inwardly, and she noticed Bruce's hand tighten around his glass – which was untouched.

"It's going to be clever, artistic and get incredible publicity," Barbara huffed. "I just don't know what to do about it!"

Bruce's smile looked amused, but Zoe noticed the corners of his eyes wrinkled ever so slightly with tension.

"Well, Zoe?" Bruce said, turning to her. "What are we going to do about it?"

Zoe put the camera down and glared at him. Barbara looked back and forth between the two of them in utter confusion.

"Someone please explain?" she asked.

"Zoe here not only works for Brandstar Productions, but she happens to be the thesis student in the Gotham U Film Department that has been selected to film the Sionis Foundation documentary."

"But, that's preposterous!" Barbara exclaimed. "It's a conflict of interest! There is no way Miss Butler can do both."

"So it would seem," Bruce replied calmly, sliding Zoe an icy look.

Zoe glared right back at him.

* * *

He didn't know why exactly he was so angry about Zoe being involved with Roman Sionis in any way. He had never felt so primally protective about anyone, even Rachel. But then, Rachel had been cynical and tough as nails from the get-go, and there was something about Zoe that was innocent and unspoiled. He knew that wasn't really the case, but still…still…

"I don't really have much of a choice," Zoe said in a tone that revealed she was struggling to keep her temper. "I can't choose between my job and my degree, and both are requiring me to do these assignments."

"Well, Miss Butler, I'm afraid, we're going to have to do something about this," Barbara sniffed. "I'll call Brandstar this afternoon and have you replaced."

"No."

Both women turned to look at Bruce, and he regretted his instantaneous outburst. Now, he had to explain it.

"This whole thing is very intrusive," he said, trying to sound sheepish. "It's uncomfortable, but I've gotten comfortable with Zoe. It would be a pain for me to have to start all over again with someone else."

"You've only been filming for a day and a half," Barbara objected.

"It's Zoe or nothing," Bruce said stubbornly.

"Then, you'll have to decline the assignment at school," Barbara said, shifting back to Zoe.

"I…I can't," she replied. "It's a waiver for a three-credit class, plus a stipend that I need."

"Money's not an issue," Bruce interjected without a second thought. It occurred to him that after this was all done, he'd surprise Zoe by paying off her school loans, in addition to the spa day in the Pallisades and the gift certificates to Best Buy and the Apple Store.

"It is for me," Zoe snapped back. "Look, you two are just going to have to trust me to be ethical about this whole thing. I will do both documentaries to the best of my abilities and sensibilities. I will serve my clients as well as I can. I'm not going to play favorites or play tricks. I just want to get these jobs done. Okay?"

Bruce studied her as she stormed on, and he found himself fighting to hide a smile. She was hilarious and cute when she was angry, like an earnest child. A glance at Barbara revealed that she found nothing amusing about this.

"Really," Barbara said, shaking her head. "I'm going to have to think all this through. This is just unacceptable. Well, you might as well finish filming today, and then we'll decide what to do tomorrow. Bruce, you'll think on it as well?"

"Sure," he said easily. The only thing he could think of was that he had to get Zoe out of Roman Sionis' way.

Barbara left, leaving a trail of Chanel scent behind her. Bruce glanced over at Zoe and saw her looking dejectedly down at her camera and fiddling with something on it.

He got up and went over to her, then ducked his head to catch her expression when he was standing in front of her. She was biting her lip, and the tip of her nose was suspiciously red.

"Hey," he said softly, putting his hands on her shoulders in a brotherly gesture. "It's okay. Don't let the ol' Bulldog get you down."

She nodded silently, still keeping her head down. He caught her chin and lifted her face to his, and he saw the tears swimming in her eyes, threatening to spill over. He smiled as warmly as he could, unused to having to be the one to do the comforting in any situation.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed, blinking furiously. "I…I just hate it when people doubt my abilities or my ethics. I know this is a shitty situation, but…but I can't help it. I need that stipend. I mean, working at Brandstar doesn't pay much, and…and I shouldn't be talking about this. I'm sorry."

"If you need money," he started to say, instantly prepared to give her whatever she wanted, whatever she needed.

"I do need money," she said with a crooked smile. "But, I'll earn it fair and square."

"It's not charity," he said, gritting his teeth as she shook her head.

"Yes, it is," she replied. "But, it's very, very kind of you to offer me your help. I really appreciate it."

He couldn't think of anything to say, and the silence lengthened between them, but it was a far different silence than earlier. Something about his heartbeats made this silence different.

"Well, ahem, um," he stammered, forcing himself to let go of her, step back and remind himself of his brotherly feelings for her. "I guess we had better get back to work?"

"You actually call what you do work?" Zoe teased, seeming more her old self again.

"It's a hard job, being the top playboy in Gotham," he said mock defensively.

She gave him one of those odd looks that seemed to turn him transparent.

"Yes," she said thoughtfully. "I suppose it is."

She picked up the camera.

* * *

"Goekler!"

The roar was so familiar that it had stopped making him jump from his seat, but Goekler still didn't like feeling like he was being called for like Henry VIII calling for another leg of roast mutton.

He suppressed a sigh, straightened his jacket, grabbed a pen and notebook and went into Roman Sionis' office.

"Took you a devil of a time," Sionis snapped. "I've got a date with the girl who's going to do our documentary."

"When?" Goekler asked, mentally preparing the usual checklist.

"Tomorrow night. The Atlantis Club. I want the usual set up, but, I think I also want something more. She's one of those film types, so something artistic."

The usual set-up was easy. Roses, champagne, impeccable service, some trinket from Tiffany's, rufies, handcuffs and a bag of $100 bills for the morning after. Goekler supposed he could leave off the last few items, since Sionis would need to work with her. Surely, he'd be able to restrain himself for one night. As for the artistic thing…

"Some kind of vintage camera equipment, perhaps?" he suggested. "I believe filmmakers and photographers have a thing for old cameras."

"Perfect," Sionis rumbled. He paused a moment in reflection, and it was clear to Goekler that he hadn't been dismissed yet. "About the last…shipment. Since I didn't hear anything, I assume everything went as planned?"

Goekler had learned that the slightest pause for a hitch of breath would be enough time for Sionis to guess that something had gone wrong and explode before the facts could be put before him. Therefore, his answer was quick and smooth.

"The shipment went fine, but two of our men were attacked by the Batman on the way back, and-"

"Bloody hell!" Just like Old Faithful. Always on time. "What the hell were they thinking? Do they know how long he had been following them? What if he had been with them at the docks? The whole operation could be at risk because of those idiots!"

"I don't believe he followed them," Goekler interjected when Sionis paused to fill up his lungs for another burst. "Interestingly enough, he apparently had a girl with him."

"A girl?" Sionis gaped.

"Yes. The men couldn't say any more, but I doubt that the Batman would attempt a complicated surveillance if he was taking someone along."

Sionis deflated…slowly. He rubbed his face, as if trying to scrub off the stress.

"This next batch has to work," he murmured. "It has to."

"We'll know by close of business today," Goekler said softly.

Sionis frowned and sat lost in thought. He started when he realized that Goekler was still in the room.

"Get out of here!" he yelled.

Goekler left, suppressing a sigh.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you all for your patience! So, here's the update. I finished the first book in January, sent it to six agents and got really positive, personal responses from three of them, wanting to see more. Ultimately, they didn't accept the book, BUT, the fact that three top literary agents wanted to see more was a huge boost for my confidence. I'm working on rewriting the book, and writing another one at the same time. I also made an unexpected move from Boston to Philadelphia in April, so I've been trying to get my life in order after that (I was in Boston for 15 years!).**

**I'm traveling a lot for the next few weeks, but I hope to be able to keep going more regularly with this story. As for Spellbinding, I'm actually putting that one on official hold, as I've figured out a way to turn it into a non-Batman novel! Wheee!**

**Yours in mischief,**

**Kate September**


	10. Fishy Stories

By the time Zoe was sitting in Bruce's Rolls Royce, doggedly filming him scrolling through his Blackberry and scowling randomly, she was ready to solve Barbara Stanford's problem for her.

Seriously, if Bruce was going to get much weirder or moodier, she was going to have to quit this assignment. He was really starting to get on her nerves, and it was only iron-clad professionalism that stopped her from telling him to put on his big boy panties and quit moping around. After all, what did the guy really have to be so morose about? He had billions and billions of dollars (Zoe said to herself in her best "Carl Sagan voice"), he had every babe he wanted, he lived in fabulous places and could vacation permanently if he wanted, and he was respected by everybody…

Oh wait.

Now, wasn't that an interesting thought?

Zoe lowered her camera and fiddled with it as she rolled that idea around in her head. Bruce had everything except people's respect. He was the dumb playboy. He was the supermodel's manwhore. He was petted and indulged, but never really held to any standards.

And yet he could have been.

Society could have expected more of him, and he could have expected more of himself. He could have achieved more for himself. He could have been proud of himself…respected himself.

So many thoughts like this tumbled through Zoe's mind that she ended up completely ignoring the man in the seat across from her, the very source of these thoughts.

She started when the car pulled up to a stop in front of Bruce's building. Silently, Bruce got out on the curb-side and leaned in to help her out, but she hadn't waited for him. She had popped out the traffic-side and was hauling her gear with her.

"And, what would you like for dinner tonight, Miss Butler?" Alfred asked, handing the keys to the valet.

"Oh, well, actually," she stammered. "This is where we part ways for the night. I actually have another appointment to keep, and I have to go home and get ready for it."

"Then perhaps tomorrow night, I can tempt you to stay for dinner and try my Chicken Marengo?"

"Yes, definitely! I'd love to try your Chicken Tango."

"Marengo."

"Right. Marengo," Zoe corrected herself with a laugh. "Kinda sounds like marimba."

"It was a dish invented by one of Napoleon's chefs during one of his campaigns," Alfred replied in a dignified manner.

"Napoleon, um, right. Okay, well, I gotta scoot." Zoe shouldered her bag of gear and turned to hail a cab. "Same time, same channel tomorrow, Bruce?"

"Sure."

The monosyllable from Bruce was like running full tilt into a wall. Zoe remembered her mother's cat had used to do that. For the first time, she felt sympathy for poor Mr. Whiskers.

But, she felt no sympathy for poor Mr. Wayne.

He could suck it.

Appointment. She had called it an appointment and not a date. That was good. Or had she been making fun of him again and his "date"?

Bruce grit his teeth as he stepped off the elevator into the penthouse. He really, really, really didn't want Zoe going on that date with Roman Sionis, and he couldn't think of any way to keep her from doing it.

He wanted to throw his clothes on the floor, venting his irritation by leaving a trail of rumpled shirts and pants as he headed to his closet to change. But, discipline and habit and compulsion made him remove his clothing and fold and hang it up precisely the way he always did every night.

He changed into a dark navy blue suit with a thin grey stripe, a white shirt, and a brown and grey tie. As he struggled with his cufflinks, he thought of how nice it had been to have Zoe there to do them for him. She was such a nice, helpful kid.

She was the reason the Batman went out there night after night, so that nice kids like her could be safe in their East End apartments, not having to worry about walking home from class, or the grocery store…or a date…

Damn!

His face was almost frighteningly stone-cold as he looked in the mirror to finish tying his tie. He hated life. He hated everything about it. He hated everyone. He just wanted to be free of it all. He wanted…he wanted to go back and sit through that damn opera. He wanted to erase this life and go back and start over…to live simple, straight-forward, linear…to see his father's pride as his son legitimately and actively managed Wayne Enterprises…to see his mother's face light up when he brought Zoe home to meet her for the first time…

What.

Wait.

What was Zoe doing in there? He physically shook his head to clear his thoughts and took in deep slow breaths to center himself again. He had allowed himself to drift in the swell of anger, regret and hurt, and that was weak of him. He had to put it all back now. Live in the now. Deal in the now. There was no next moment that didn't come from a now moment.

Bruce ran through his training mantras in his head as he forced his expression to slacken and strolled out to meet Alfred.

"Mr. Sionis and Miss Butler will be dining tonight at the new sushi restaurant ZebraFish," Alfred said nonchalantly. "In case you wanted to know."

"I'm taking Svetlana to Oshinu," Bruce replied.

"I already changed your reservation, Master Bruce. No, no need to thank me."

Bruce snorted but couldn't deny the charge. As he drove the Lamborghini through the streets, he reflected that probably one of the reasons he preferred Oshinu to ZebraFish was that Roman Sionis preferred to eat at ZebraFish. Sionis' absence from the room inevitably made the raw fish taste better.

He picked up Svetlana at her hotel and pasted the dopey, happy smile on his face as she prated on about the shoes she had bought that day. He wished he could stab out his eyes…or maybe his ears. A little judicious flooring of the gas pedal and some sudden stops put a stop to her chatter.

"Ooooh, ees sweet leetle rest-o-raunt," Svetlana cooed, shaking back her long blonde mane.

"Yeah, real nice," Bruce muttered, wincing at the garish black and white stripe theme, accented by magenta velvet upholstery.

By slipping the maitre d' a $50, he managed to get a table about two over from Roman and Zoe. He positioned himself so he could see exactly what was going on. The first thing he did was study Zoe, examining her from head-to-toe. He felt a twinge of disappointment at the fact that Zoe wore a black shirt, black pants, and the old black flats she had worn already. She had tried to comb her hair, but nothing else. This was not the elegant ensemble he realized he had been hoping she would show up in. Then again, he chided himself, the less attractive she could make herself, the less Roman Sionis would want to get his grubby paws on her.

"So, tell me," Roman purred, leaning across the table to Zoe. "What got you interested in film in the first place?"

Zoe smiled and replied, "I've always seen in pictures, and things play out in my head as if it's all a movie."

"Fascinating," Roman smirked, and Bruce wanted to smash that smirk off his face.

"What made you take up the family business?" Zoe asked back.

"But of course I would follow in my father's footsteps," Roman replied. "I couldn't imagine doing anything else."

"Interesting," Zoe said. "It must be hard work to keep up with both the business and all your social obligations."

Something about her observation made Bruce's throat close up in a mild panic.

"Yes," Roman agreed. "You really have to be quite organized and focused to keep everything moving, and also to feel your way through every situation, to make sure everyone feels you are giving them the cream of your attention, to keep an eye on your goal."

Zoe frowned slightly and thought for a moment. Then, she asked, "So what is your goal?"

"To make Sionis Corporation the best, most profitable company that provides the best return on investment for our shareholders."

"But what is your goal, Mr. Sionis? For yourself, not the corporation."

"I want what every man wants, Miss Butler. A wife, a family, security, happiness…love."

Bruce nearly crushed his chopsticks in his hand.

"So, why haven't you married?" Zoe asked bluntly.

"I haven't found the right woman," Sionis said, looking meaningfully at her.

"Then you can't have been looking," Zoe riposted, neatly scooping up a salmon maki in her chopsticks. "You don't strike me as the type to accept failure when you set your mind to accomplish something."

"Ah, but I only want the best."

"Do you deserve the best?"

Despite all his training, Bruce couldn't help but quirk his lips in an aborted smile as Sionis sat back, clearly astonished by a thought he had never had.

Roman Sionis = 0, Zoe Butler = 10,000,000

"I work every day to be the best person I can be, Miss Butler," he said finally, a grim pomposity infusing his words. "I believe that my best effort renders me deserving of the best reward."

Zoe made a strangled little snort that sounded like a laugh choked into a sneeze mid-bite. She swallowed and coughed, her eyes suspiciously bright.

"Sorry," she croaked. "Too much wasabi."

Sionis looked taken aback again. Bruce realized with some satisfaction that Sionis was in uncharted waters with honest little spitfire Zoe. Now, if Zoe had been having dinner with him at his table, it would have been easy to talk with her, to draw her out, to share with her.

No.

It was like waking up by having someone dump cold water on you. He suddenly and keenly remembered every reason why he couldn't share with Zoe, why he couldn't let himself get close to her or fond of her.

He would look out for her like a big brother, especially while Sionis was trying to get his hooks into her, but after that…after that, they'd go their separate ways, and he'd never have to see her again.

That was the right thing to do, and he should be glad to do it. He was glad to do it.

He didn't love Zoe Butler. Not in the least.

* * *

**A/N: I have not forgotten you! I'm sorry for the passivity of this chapter, but I'm easing back into it. So, in the past year and a half, I've been through quite a bit. My father passed away, and I've had to take care of my mother, I moved from Boston to Delaware back to Boston…and…I got a book published!**

**Fair warning, it's erotica, but it's MY style of erotica, with lots of twists and turns and plot, believable characters and romance. If you like my writing and are over 18, check it out at Bookstrand. It's called Moonstruck, and it's under my erotica pen name: Fiona Blackthorne.**

**I also have a new blog on Blogspot called Artifex Amor. If you want to know more about me, my life, my writing…plus cooking, fashion, book reviews, etc…it's a great place to visit!**

**Thank you to all my readers who are so patient with me – it means soooo much to me. Also, just FYI, Spellbinding will no longer be updated, as it is being turned into a book. Yeah. You heard me. Not a Batman book, but a book with all the things you love in it!**


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